Ascension Day

I dreamed about Dolly last night. She was outside, exploring; she was well! She was Dolly.

It was so good to see her. Make of that what you will.

We went to mass this morning - it is the Ascension of Jesus. forty days after Easter. I thought I'd make a nice dinner. I baked a small cake, coffee flavor with walnuts, no frosting. I then made a crustless quiche, with mushrooms and spinach - a little cheese. A romaine salad with blood oranges and a bit of yellow bell pepper, oil and vinegar dressing, and some chicken tenders marinated in a yogurt lemon herb mixture and baked.

In the afternoon, I sliced up the cake, which would have looked better cut up, and decided to have a piece. It was made with dates, and a little brown sugar. Well, it was so sweet - frankly, I couldn't stand it. I threw out the rest. I felt bad there was no dessert, not that my brother would notice, or mind. 

Meanwhile, I was catching up on some of Huw Richards' videos. He is focusing lately on perennial vegetables and he mentioned rhubarb; I have thought of rhubarb before, and would like to grow it, so I wrote it down. 

I no sooner wrote the word when my phone rang. It was a neighbor, Sally. I just baked a strawberry rhubarb pie, and wonder if you'd like some. Ah, ah!! I told her the story of my dessert disappointment, AND that I'd just written the word "rhubarb". Of all things! She brought it over and said she had put in less than half of the sugar in the recipe - it was just right. Thank you, dear Sally! 

Loving Father,

because of the Ascension of your Son
our human nature is now at home with you in heaven.
May this truth be our lasting encouragement and hope.
Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

The Ascension, by Rembrandt

it's Twelfth Night

 The Three Kings arrived

and Dolly was there.

the storms are past

 The storm moved more to the east and yes, we had lots of torrential rain but not as much as we feared. And, the winds were nothing like predicted for our area. I'm grateful. You know, you plan ahead for something, possibly destructive, and even when it doesn't come to pass, you need a day to just get over/process it, thank God, rest/recover, ponder it - whatever. Yes, you could go on with business as usual, but we are not machines. And we're still feeling the effects of it now, with tropical air and a soaking rain much of the day (but no "rivers" along the fence, as it didn't come down too fast).

A sympathy card came in the mail signed by one of Sweetie's doctors and two other employees there. This is not unheard of, but they each wrote a note inside! I was so sorry to hear about Sweetie. She was a very special cat - and so lucky to have such a loving family to care for her. Be comforted knowing you did everything you could. With sincere sympathy, and signed by the oncology doctor. Somewhere along the way, we'd heard there was a pet cancer center a couple of towns over which we had no idea of. We took her there in early spring, and even though by then Sweetie's tongue was infiltrated by the tumor, she still could move it somewhat and she still wanted to eat. They gave us a pill called Palladia, which is not chemo per se, but it can stop or slow down the cancer's growth. It seemed to, and Sweetie got used to us feeding her. It was a huge learning curve for all three of us, finding what foods were best for using in a syringe and what sizes of syringe are best. I will say that I'd always seen her as a difficult personality (Tortie!) but she surprised me, she was also willing to learn. She had to learn to get used to my brother trying to wash her feet and tail - you can't imagine how gross she got from the litter box. She had to learn to  let us feed her, but even when she gave a hard time she'd come back for more food, and she'd always come to us again at night, purring; she did not hold a grudge, she knew we were trying to help. 

This type of cancer, oral squamous cell carcinoma, afflicts many cats and it's fast and lethal. She lasted a year, which was way more than the three to six month prediction. But this statistic is based on most people having their cat euthanized, so it's not a true statistic. Apparently there is a very promising treatment, but it's still in trials in Illinois and they would not let us participate - my brother was in contact with someone involved in it; he really did a lot of research. We always figured the time would come when we'd have her put to sleep, but she had plenty of life in her and she wanted to keep going. Her mouth would get infected often, and she'd need Clavamox to be comfortable enough to eat. We always did what we thought best and were grateful for the doctors who could support us. 

"only the young are homebound when they can't go out"

"...Miss Montague sat apparently idle, her hands caressing the cat in her lap. Beyond the west window, behind the steep old roofs of Worship Street, the last of a fiery frosty sunset was burning itself out....Motionless in her chair Miss Montague left her room and went up and down the streets of the city, seeing the remembered pattern of its roofs against the sky,...knowing as she turned each corner exactly what she would see, for she had the city by heart....If anyone at this moment was thinking of her it was as a very old woman who never left her house except to go to the Cathedral in her Bath chair when she was well enough, and perhaps they pitied her. They did not know how vivid are the memories of the old and that only the young are homebound when they can't go out."

                                                                 -  Elizabeth Goudge, The Dean's Watch

I'm moving along with The Dean's Watch, and that last line really struck me. I love Elizabeth Goudge and have read several of her books, also this seems to be a favorite with many. But when I bought it last year I couldn't bear what seemed to me a heavy, gloomy atmosphere - so I put it away, surprised and disappointed. Meanwhile, I'm participating in this reading challenge; one of the things is a book I've avoided. Well, this was it, and you know, I'm really enjoying it now. There is a proper time and place for everything.

I worked on my dress today, carefully hand stitching the lace to the area somewhere near the neckline seam, if that's the right term for it. It's where the bias binding is sewn to the neck; I decided to attach it only there and leave it free everywhere else. I decided the other day to do my sewing or something creative for an hour first, before other things. It's nice - I took my time and forgot about everything else. 

It's the feast of St. Bonaventure today -

"When we pray, the voice of the heart must be heard more than the proceedings from the mouth."

It's also Rembrandt's birthday. I hope the two of them are in the same place.

clearing the air

 We had a long, proper thunderstorm this evening. I sat in my room in front of the fan, in low light; out my back window I could see lights in the windows of the people behind us. There is something about a summer evening, window open, and seeing someone else's lit windows. Well, even in winter it's intriguing, but summer is different. There is less of a distant feeling about it. 

We've had some definite summer days lately, but now things will cool down. When a big heat comes in May, it's brings you right into a summer frame of mind. It's welcome, but you know it can't last. Still, I think tomorrow I'll get out the airy living room curtains, so I guess the heat did it's magic on me. And Memorial Day is coming, so that means my white sandals. ;-)

Speaking of Memorial Day, I realized that without those two trees which recently were removed we have no early/mid-afternoon shade in the back yard! This is a grave disappointment to me. We can't have a cookout. There's some shade in the mornings, till maybe eleven-ish. Then in late afternoon there's some against the house in the back, because we face west (ish). So, I can still sit outside with Dolly on hot mornings come July or August, but I may start scouting out places in the front yard and see how they work out. It's just that you're on display for everyone who goes by. Maybe that could be a positive thing in the time of COVID. But I remember the day of the eclipse, when we sat out and I just love doing that whenever possible and now we can't. 

Maybe I'm being too picky about these trees! The sooner we have new trees, the sooner we'll have shade.

The storm just came back, briefly. Long enough to thunder a little and pour for a bit. So I ran to close the north windows, but this time it rained straight down. I guess it's really summer.

memories of a tree

 

The maple right there, right before you get to the bridge - well, take a good look. It isn't there now.

The infamous October snowstorm from nine and a half years ago caused this dear tree to lean toward the house, and another one on the side near the fence had damaged limbs up high. We thought it would be safer to take them down.

A co-worker had a tree land on her house during a very windy night. Now, a year and a half later, they are still living in a condo, waiting for their home to be finished - the delays due to COVID, for the most part.

This is the tree Dolly and I sit under every summer, with our quilt and music and books and magazines - well, my stuff, but she enjoys the quilt and the music. No more, Dolly. 

There is a tree out there the clothesline is attached to, so we do have some backyard shade. And we're wanting to put another two or three trees back there as soon as the stumps get removed. Maybe another ornamental cherry, Japanese maple - nothing too tall. 

It was quite something to watch these fellows; they were here seven or eight hours, and it's such hard work. Worth the amount we paid them. And it was arranged that they'd drive the logs up the road to a neighbor who can use them, so that was very tidy.

At the end as they were leaving, a sun shower arrived. Immediately, I started looking for the rainbow.

It was faint, though not as faint as it looks here. But it was heartening to see a rainbow, and now there's nothing to block the view. 

he came, we saw, he conquered

Well. George Washington was here.

This fellow was Really good. He had an authentic uniform, portraying Washington as a general. He spoke exclusively about the Revolutionary War, the battles, dropping names we learned in our history classes. He was not a spellbinding speaker, but as he told us later when we helped him pack up, neither was his subject, so he figures he's a good fit for playing George Washington.

The prepared portrayal was about an hour with a Q & A for another half hour. And that's when you find out if they know their stuff. He knew. And he stayed in character. One lady just didn't get that and asked him about the Civil War. He looked puzzled, and then thought she must be meaning the English Civil War - he even mentioned something about Roundheads. She didn't get it.

After the Q&A he took questions as himself.

He wanted a photo with the original three of us who couldn't get in to see him last October.

Everyone was very impressed.

this photo by my brother

a little remembrance

Cyndi came by and we exchanged birthday and Christmas presents, because we just haven't been able to until now. And one thing she gave me was a little outdoor statue of a tuxedo kitty.

Reminds me of someone. We'll either put it on the back step, or near the kitchen garden, where he used to hang out.

a visit with Vincent

My co-worker and I took a trip to a museum to see a Van Gogh display, and to hear an author speak on his biography of Vincent.

Horton can be found guarding the place

It was very well attended; he was to talk an hour. The president of the museum spoke first - she gushed too much and went on too long; it cut into his speaking time. Then, she introduced a woman who introduced the author - it was all a bit much. 

They insisted that he save ten minutes at the end for questions, which means he ended up speaking only forty five minutes. We both would have stayed another hour or two gladly, had he been allowed to keep talking. That was too bad.

can't be original, 'cause it wouldn't be in English, would it?

About the book: it isn't new. It was published in 2011, and they were even on 60 Minutes back then - I saw the episode. The biggest excitement about this book is their theory that Vincent didn't shoot himself, as is generally believed. At least, they feel that the evidence doesn't support it. It was some kind of accident but he didn't "tell" on anyone. A few years ago I inter-library loaned the book. When it came, all nine hundred pages of it, it was just too much to get involved in, so I sent it back. 

his brother

Afterward we went upstairs to see the exhibit. It was well done, extremely imaginative; it will be great for kids with lots of crazy inter-active things. 

try your hand at drawing a sunflower

Why didn't I take more photos? I should have. Here I am, sitting at the Cafe Terrace at Night.

Isn't that cool? But this is even better - 

my friend actually sitting in the bedroom at Arles - she could have lain on that bed, if she'd liked. They did a great job with it, didn't they?

part of the studio

Anyway, this man was so so interesting that we decided we should make the effort to read the book, so I ended up buying it. It may take me a year to read, and that will be fine if so. 

When we passed through the museum to leave, we ran into him, so I grabbed his hand and told him we would have gladly stayed to hear more and were sorry his talk was too short. I said this not for his benefit, but for the museum person who was with him. Maybe I should email them, too. 

Afterward, we had a tasty lunch and when we got back to town, stopped at a local and very popular bakery in the hope that we could get a piece of a fancy cake they'd advertised for that day - and wouldn't you know, there was one fat slice left! We finished it off, and both agreed it had been a very good day.

no more struggles

Diane called not long after we got home from Mass - Mr. Kibble wasn't doing well; she thought we might want him for a while to say our good-byes. Yes!

He was here about four hours; we prayed for him and sprinkled holy water on his little self when he seemed to struggle for breath. He was here with us on the kitchen table in his little bed the whole time, and we kept our vigil talking and stroking him; he gave up the ghost around four twenty.

With much gratitude to St. Joseph, for taking such good care of him all this time.

Kibble, in your orisons be all our sins remembered.

bare floor in the living room

It's strange to see a bare floor in the living room - the cats are probably glad to lay on the coolness of it. Settling on a suitable area rug is not as simple as I imagined, but I think I know what I want to buy now.

Here is the best photo I've ever been able to take of the beautiful Yogi -

but I am very, very sorry to report that my brother found poor Yogi two streets over on Monday morning, and he'd been hit. He picked him up and brought him to Diane's; they found a box for her husband to bury him in. He was so alive last week! Here he is hovering over Mr. Kibble, which was getting to be a problem, I admit. Not a good way to end a problem, though, is it?

Good-bye, Yogi. But, please God, no more!

our good Henry

Yesterday morning at five thirty my brother came into my room and said that Henry was laying on the kitchen floor, and he thought he had died. Yes, he had - and he was still warm.  I have tears at the back of my eyes all the time.

my favorite picture of him - and so nice they both looked at the camera

Looking back, lately he has been a little slower to come to meals and sleeping more. He also hadn't been hanging out near the radio as usual. But - we finally got rid of the old living room rug, and I just imagined he didn't like laying on the bare floor, or didn't like the idea of change. But he probably just didn't feel that great; he had been staying on a little rug in my brother's room. Poor Henry! We didn't realize.

He lived with us for seven and a half years, and we didn't know where he came from or his age. So he may have been around Dolly's age - we just didn't expect to lose him yet. He didn't do what I thought cats always did at the end, hide way underneath places, and cry when they're dying. This is what I've experienced. But if Henry had cried out yesterday morning, I think one of us would have heard him, so I really think God was merciful to him and his heart just stopped or something like that. 

He was a pious cat. (We used to joke about this.) But we have a habit of praying a rosary decade on Sunday night, and he would always come by and stay near us. 

"meditating" at Christmas - silly, I suppose, but there it is

when we used to let him out, Henry visiting with our statue of St. Francis

The other cats' mealtimes are all messed up now, because Henry always knew exactly when it was noontime and when it was five o'clock or any time to eat. The others slept later today and then I suddenly remembered to feed them two hours past the right time. He almost always greeted you, even if you just walked by - he would make a little noise, like "huh", or some such. This seemed like good manners to me. He was often underfoot and could be so annoying, but he was always nearby, and I'm missing him so much.

Maybe I will think of more to say in coming days, but for now I'm getting too teary-eyed.

Let us pause in life's pleasures to count its many tears

While we all sup sorrow with the poor;

There's a song that will linger forever in our ears,

Oh! Hard times, come again no more. 

'Tis the song, the cry of the weary,

Hard times, hard times, come again no more;

Many days you have lingered around my cabin door,

Oh! Hard times, come again no more.

While we seek mirth and beauty and music light and gay

There are frail forms fainting at the door;

Though their voices are silent, their pleading looks will say

Oh! Hard times, come again no more.

'Tis the song, the cry of the weary,

Hard times, hard times, come again no more;

Many days you have lingered around my cabin door,

Oh! Hard times, come again no more.

- Stephen Foster

Good night, Henry!

(edited to add a photo - 6/24)

good memories

"You must know that there is nothing higher, or stronger, or sounder, or more useful afterwards in life, than some good memory, especially a memory from childhood, from the parental home. You hear a lot said about your education, yet some such beautiful, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man stores up such memories to take into life, then he is saved for his whole life. And even if only one good memory remains with us in our hearts, that alone may serve one day for our salvation....and keep [us] from great evil.

                                                           -  Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

                                                     from Tending the Heart of Virtue, by Vigen Guroian

eleventh day of Christmas

big snowstorm outside

cheery lights inside

"It's a comforting thought that beautiful moments never die. One can collect them, store them away, and they are always at hand to bring forth again and appreciate. There are many of them, and all one needs is an awareness to have them."

-  Gladys Taber

Lamb Chop

If you're around my age, you may remember Shari Lewis, and Lamb Chop. Do you?

I was at the supermarket today and as I passed by the dog section on the way to get cat food, there was a plush Lamb Chop with antlers there, hanging up, apparently a dog toy. Three dollars and seventy four cents - half price.

What do you think I did?

Would there be any point to my insisting that I'm never drawn to silly Christmas decorations, that Christmas is a serious business to me?  But, Lamb Chop.

She's sitting in the little chair in the living room right now. She doesn't really have a place in our Christmas decor. But, she's Lamb Chop.

She makes a noise when you squeeze her tummy or her hand. I don't know where to keep it; I'm not sorry I bought it. It's Lamb Chop.

birthday fun and other things

Tootsie went home with her people on Tuesday. I miss her a little; it's much easier to see her good points when she's separated from the other cats and isn't stressed out. I miss seeing her curled up in a laundry basket, resting on the shelf above the radio and listening, trying to get into the fridge for some greens, "talking" to me and really seeming like she's giving answers at the right times, the way she would sometimes stick out her front paws in a stiff way when you pick her up, or curl her "arms" around your shoulder like a child and not want to be put down for a while.

Okay, enough sentimentalism - things are back to normal here, and simpler. And she is happy at home.

My brother turns sixty tomorrow. Today I made him a cheesecake. But Nancy and Eileen had us over for lunch on Monday - it was to be a surprise birthday lunch, and my brother was indeed surprised!  I'd made a cake the previous week, which Eileen picked up and kept in their freezer. Made the frosting on Monday morning, stuffed it in a cute bag with some candles and decorations and gussied up the cake after our meal while he was chatting away.

 It was a lovely lunch and visit, very Novembery and overcast. If there were no holidays to look forward to at this time, this month would probably drag me down, but as it is, when it gets cold and even gloomy, it just seems more cozy to me and I look forward gladly to what's coming. Their home is so charming (two artists!) and Nancy set a pretty autumn table. They have a squirrel creamer -

A good memory.

We were there till late afternoon, and even though it was sprinkling, when we got home I managed to get the last window washed before the cold set in, because it is much colder - tomorrow will be in the twenties! Everyone is saying how fast Thanksgiving is approaching, and I think it must be due to the deceptively warm October we had; it was like an extended summer. Now, it's like winter is upon us!

Are parsleyed potatoes an English thing?

I've read that potatoes cooked with butter and parsley is an English dish, but -

When we were little, my parents were friendly with an older couple. My mother thought this friendship was especially important because there were no grandparents, and so these good people were as close to that as we could get.  They had a very small Italian restaurant in the city, where we'd often go on Sunday evenings; my brother enjoyed being allowed to set the tables (red checked tablecloths!) and refill the shaker jars with red pepper flakes and grated parmesan. The wife did all the cooking herself and the husband waited tables - they were well into middle age back then, and worked hard! Her spaghetti sauce was like nothing I've tasted since.

Anyway, she was an excellent cook, and made a couple of things which still stay in my mind, and one of them - this will probably surprise you - was to slice canned potatoes, and sort of fry them in butter with parsley. We ate plenty of canned veg when I was a kid, and I didn't mind potatoes canned (don't think I'd want them now).

Anyway, tonight I was putting my brother's dinner together - he works late - and there is some leftover chicken and some boiled potatoes. I sliced them up, and browned them in butter with some parsley. They're good; better than just warmed over.

But, isn't this an English thing?