I took my job as Dad's necktie helper very seriously. I would deliberate for long periods of time on which crazy pattern he should wear that day. Then, with complete seriousness I would tie his necktie. It was an interesting skill for a nine year old girl to have but it has served me well helping boyfriends over the years. But, back to that night and my important task. I selected a money print tie that my grandmother had purchased for my Dad on our recent trip to Washington, D.C. I thought it suited the importance of a Mason meeting. Loony Toons could wait until a workday. I was promised a hug and a kiss when he came home that night after I was sleeping and skipped off to go play The Lava Game with my brother.
Somewhere in the middle of my brother accusing me of having touched the floor in my daring leap to the couch from the chair, we heard a knock on the door. I ran and hid behind the kitchen island while my brother peeked through the door to see who was there. I was to relay the message of who it was to my Mum who had been vacuuming the house in her slip and was now hiding in the bathroom wondering who was knocking at such a late hour. It was "Uncle Wayne" aka my brother's best friend's father so my brother, naturally, let him in. I'm pretty sure my Mum had a stroke. I didn't understand it (still don't sometimes) but my Mum is very particular about her appearance. Wayne sent us off to the other room but we hung around the door frame and tried to figure out what was going on.
He kept knocking on the bathroom door and murmuring something to my mother. Suddenly she opened the door. I realized with absolute clarity that something was very, very wrong if my Mum had just been convinced to open the door. She had added an oversized blue and white checked Arizona Jeans fleece to her outfit of slippers and a slip. They didn't tell us kids anything that night but I knew enough to know that my Mum wearing that in front of someone that she had not married or given birth to spelled trouble. We were hurried into bed and given surprisingly tight hugs as my Mum rushed out the door. I was so confused and frightened that I pulled my entire night-time book supply from underneath my bed into my tent-bed with me. Armed with a flashlight and piles of paperbacks, I slept only a few hours that night.
The next morning my brother woke me up and, still sleepy, I went down to the kitchen for breakfast. I could not believe my eyes when I saw Wayne standing there behind the kitchen island. I glared at him and stalked out of the room. Everything from the night before came rushing back to me. Why hadn't my Dad come home and given me my goodnight kiss? Where did my Mum go? Then, Wayne made a mistake he would regret for years to come. He called me back into the room. "Hey Katie," he said with a cheerful smile. I greeted him with all the hatred a nine year old can muster, my hands on my hips, eyes narrowed. I did not bother asking what he wanted. "You're cute when you're mad." It would take years before my bizarre distrust of this man would be vindicated but from that moment on, I loathed him. I was a painfully shy and seriously scared kid and I was trying to be fearsome. Cute! How dare he?! He drove us to school and I couldn't get away fast enough.
The hours dragged by before my Mum finally came and picked us up. "Daddy had an accident."
My father had been hit head-on during the previous night's snowstorm. Although he was many miles from our house when it happened he was hit by our next door neighbor. If not for the plow on the front of his truck, my father wouldn't have made it. The other man, very intoxicated, was not wearing his seatbelt and flew through the windshield of his vehicle and landed on the other side of the road. He only recently died but never woke from his coma.
Everyone was fussing over me at the hospital. It was all a blur of concerned voices and sympathetic faces. I kept insisting on seeing my father. The nurses and my parents friends all thought that it was a bad idea. My father, while alive, had enjoyed the feeling of a steering wheel shoved into half of his face. The right side of his face had not fared well. I didn't care what they told me. I wanted to kiss my father. I was not going to let another night pass without kissing my Dad. It was becoming clear that I would have to leave and I was NOT going to go without seeing my Daddy. I was an awkward and quiet child but I was as stubborn as they come. I pleaded with my Mum, "I don't care what he looks like. It won't scare me. He's still Daddy and I need to kiss him." Nothing would have changed my mind. My Mum, bless her, knew that. So in I went.
Initially, I was just relieved to be let into my Dad's room. I had been starting to get really worried that I wouldn't be allowed in and I was incredibly grateful just to make it through the door. I marched over to my Dad's bedside. I was a kid on a mission. I still remember how happy he was to see me. I wasn't scared or grossed out. Looking at the photographs now, I wonder how it was that I wasn't bothered by seeing my father's face smashed in. He's had surgeries and some of the bones in his face were replaced with metal so now he looks quite normal again but seeing the pictures it is hard to believe that I wasn't scared out of my wits.
Once I had nestled myself at my Dad's side and found a place to cuddle in amongst the tubes and IV, I was presented with an interesting challenge. I was there and with my Dad but I had no idea where I could put a kiss. Any space that wasn't covered with bandage was swollen or bloody or injured in some way. I examined his face for the longest time, informing him of my problem as I studied him. Finally I found the perfect place. One teeny tiny spot, just big enough and not a bit bigger, for his nine year old daughter to plant his goodnight kiss.
EDIT:
I took my job as Dad's necktie helper very seriously. I would deliberate for long periods of time on which crazy pattern he should wear that day. Then, with complete seriousness I would tie his necktie. It was an interesting skill for a nine year old girl to have but it has served me well helping boyfriends over the years. But, back to that night and my important task. I selected a money print tie that my grandmother had purchased for my Dad on our recent trip to Washington, D.C. I thought it suited the importance of a Mason meeting. Loony Toons could wait until a workday. I was promised a hug and a kiss when he came home that night after I was sleeping and skipped off to go play The Lava Game with my brother.
Somewhere in the middle of my brother accusing me of having touched the floor in my daring leap to the couch from the chair, we heard a knock on the door. I ran and hid behind the kitchen island while my brother peeked through the door to see who was there. I was to relay the message of who it was to my Mum who had been vacuuming the house in her slip and was now hiding in the bathroom wondering who was knocking at such a late hour. It was "Uncle Wayne" aka my brother's best friend's father so my brother, naturally, let him in. I'm pretty sure my Mum had a stroke. I didn't understand it (still don't sometimes) but my Mum is very particular about her appearance. Wayne sent us off to the other room but we hung around the door frame and tried to figure out what was going on.
He kept knocking on the bathroom door and murmuring something to my mother. Suddenly she opened the door. I realized with absolute clarity that something was very, very wrong if my Mum had just been convinced to open the door. She had added an oversized blue and white checked Arizona Jeans fleece to her outfit of slippers and a slip. They didn't tell us kids anything that night but I knew enough to know that my Mum wearing that in front of someone that she had not married or given birth to spelled trouble. We were hurried into bed and given surprisingly tight hugs as my Mum rushed out the door. I was so confused and frightened that I pulled my entire night-time book supply from underneath my bed into my tent-bed with me. Armed with a flashlight and piles of paperbacks, I slept only a few hours that night.
The next morning my brother woke me up and, still sleepy, I went down to the kitchen for breakfast. I could not believe my eyes when I saw Wayne standing there behind the kitchen island. I glared at him and stalked out of the room. Everything from the night before came rushing back to me. Why hadn't my Dad come home and given me my goodnight kiss? Where did my Mum go? Then, Wayne gave me a line I still hate to hear. He called me back into the room. "Hey Katie," he said with a cheerful smile. I greeted him with all the hatred a nine year old can muster, my hands on my hips, eyes narrowed. I did not bother asking what he wanted. "You're cute when you're mad." I was a painfully shy and seriously scared kid and I was trying to be fearsome. Cute! How dare he?! He drove us to school and I couldn't get away fast enough.
The hours dragged by before my Mum finally came and picked us up. "Daddy had an accident."
My father had been hit head-on during the previous night's snowstorm. Although he was many miles from our house when it happened he was hit by our next door neighbor. If not for the plow on the front of his truck, my father wouldn't have made it. The other man was very intoxicated and flew through the windshield of his vehicle and landed on the other side of the road. The price he paid for not wearing a seatbelt was a coma and then death.
Everyone was fussing over me at the hospital. It was all a blur of concerned voices and sympathetic faces. I kept insisting on seeing my father. The nurses and my parents friends all thought that it was a bad idea. My father, while alive, had enjoyed the feeling of a steering wheel shoved into half of his face. The right side of his face had not fared well. I didn't care what they told me. I wanted to kiss my father. I was not going to let another night pass without kissing my Dad. It was becoming clear that I would have to leave and I was NOT going to go without seeing my Daddy. I was an awkward and quiet child but I was as stubborn as they come. I pleaded with my Mum, "I don't care what he looks like. It won't scare me. He's still Daddy and I need to kiss him." Nothing would have changed my mind. My Mum, bless her, knew that. So in I went.
Initially, I was just relieved to be let into my Dad's room. I had been starting to get really worried that I wouldn't be allowed in and I was incredibly grateful just to make it through the door. I marched over to my Dad's bedside. I was a kid on a mission. I still remember how happy he was to see me. I wasn't scared or grossed out. Looking at the photographs now, I wonder how it was that I wasn't bothered by seeing my father's face smashed in. He's had surgeries and some of the bones in his face were replaced with metal so now he looks quite normal again but seeing the pictures it is hard to believe that I wasn't scared out of my wits.
Once I had nestled myself at my Dad's side and found a place to cuddle in amongst the tubes and IV, I was presented with an interesting challenge. I was there and with my Dad but I had no idea where I could put a kiss. Any space that wasn't covered with bandage was swollen or bloody or injured in some way. I examined his face for the longest time, informing him of my problem as I studied him. Finally I found the perfect place. One teeny tiny spot, just big enough and not a bit bigger, for his nine year old daughter to plant his goodnight kiss.
My Dad still wears that money design tie. Two generations of stain removing women couldn't remove all of the blood from it but he wears it anyway. It's his reminder of how lucky he was to have that plow on his truck. It's my reminder of how much I love my Dad and to never take him for granted.
Monday, February 28, 2011
3 Travel
My knees were shaking from the combination of a nine hour flight and my nerves. I looked around desperately for something recognizable to me. As if I could find something comforting among the people loudly speaking German and the group of Japanese tourists next to me. I finally made my way to the baggage claim. Why did every single person on this flight have the same shade of green suitcase as mine? After spending about fifteen minutes watching the suitcases go by and starting to panic, I finally realized I was standing in the wrong place. But, once I had my bag I wasn't sure that I wanted to have it. I had to make my way to my first moment of truth. I was being picked up by my boyfriend's Mum and sister and meeting them for the first time.
The first person I saw was the man I grew to claim as my Opa. Then I saw my new sister and my boyfriend's Mum. I'm pretty sure I hugged them and managed a smile that came out as more of a grimace. I'm also fairly certain that I was able to refrain from hysterical nervous laughter. Added together, I counted that as a win. I was so terrified and sleep deprived I felt like my surroundings had been set to spin. In an airport in a foreign country you don't need help becoming disoriented but every last detail piled up. Lara was speaking English to me and then German to her mother. Rosa (my boyfriend's Mum) was speaking German to Lara, occassional English to me, and Spanish to her father. My German was limited, my Spanish was rusty, and frankly, 6am on the other side of the world when my head wanted to think it was midnight and time to crawl in bed... well, that was making me unable to speak English. Not only did I not know where I was, I couldn't understand a bloody thing that was being said.
That airport is gigantic. No, gigantic doesn't even come close enough to describing it. They are not kidding when they call it an "airport city." And oh blessed airplane airconditioning I was so sorry to leave you! I would of course travel to Germany in the middle of one of their hottest summers. As soon as we started walking down the eight thousand mile hallway to find what level of hell they had parked on I had two very urgent questions. My first question was, "Who the hell packed my suitcase with all this crap?" and the second question was, "Am I sweating as much as I think I am?" The answers were of course "You did you idiot," and "No, not unless I am leaving puddles behind me." I did check and there did not appear to be puddles behind me so I think I was safe. Stench on the other hand, could have been questionable.
I was pondering if anyone would notice if I leaned on my suitcase to dry-heave for a moment when I had another question pop into my head. How on earth do you tell a 78 year old man that you can pull your own suitcase? Two years of of Spanish in high school and I'm trying to prevent my new grandfather from having a heart attack and all I can remember how to say is "shampoo." Who says you don't learn anything in high school? Sadly I cannot blame high school for my inability to tell Rosa in German, "I'm delighted to meet you but so nervous and jetlagged I think I may throw up." It's a pity.
We finally made it to an elevator. But oh, they forgot to pay for parking so off they went. I remained by the elevator and cooked in the heat while I waited. When they returned and we made our way through the vehicles I started to feel like I was going to pass out. "NOT NOW! NOT NOW! NOT NOW! NOT NOW!" I screamed to my brain. I don't know if it was my prayers, the verbal assault I had given my brain, or a combination but somehow I made it to the vehicle. Ever since last year at about this time I have become a tremendous fainter and I have no idea how I managed to get through the heat and nerves that wanted to pull me down that day. If I had known what was about to happen I think I would have opted to faint. We were on the 11th (or 1011th?) floor of a garage and began what felt as a descent into hell. I'm pretty sure going down that ramp involves completely cutting your wheel. It is a one-way spiral of puke. If I had seen a similiar setup on a rollercoaster when I was nine I would have jumped for joy. As a 23 year old in an SUV who already feels like throwing up... I almost peed myself. If I hadn't just gotten off a nine hour flight that was determined to feed the passengers meals that resembled dog food - I would have vomited. My frustration at Lufthansa food ended the second I started blessing my empty stomach. While Lara and her mother bickered about something in German I put my head down on my lap and I will admit it, dry heaved. Thankfully I am a puking professional and managed to retch without much noise. I am confident about this because I feel they would have teased me by now.
I don't think the sun has ever been as bright as it was that morning. Fishing out my sunglasses from my carry-on would have made far too much sense so I simply squinted at my surroundings. I was so relieved to see so much countryside. Wheat fields have never looked as beautiful as they did to this country girl who was terrified her boyfriend would find Maine too rural. After dropping Opa off at his darling little house with the front lawn covered in gnomes and getting my first (of many!) Oma hugs, we finally were within minutes of my boyfriend's house. I was anxious to get settled in. Christian hadn't gone to the airport because he had a final that he needed to take but had promised to be back as soon as possible.
I stared in wonder at the two dozen little brown rabbits that dashed across the lawn in front of me as I started toward the house. I thought I was hallucinating. Good job Katie, some people see purple elephants and all you can conjure up are little itty bitty bunnies! I later found out that these small rabbits are Germany's pest animal (and I would see them and photograph them everywhere) but man, nothing compares to the confusion I felt at that moment. But then I was finally inside. I was fussed and fretted over but only requested a glass of water to take my medicine with. They walked me downstairs and I collapsed on the bed. The window was opened and the lights were shut off as they left me to nap. Unsuspecting, I took a big gulp of water as I reached for my pills. "Poison!" my brain informed me as I desperately looked for a place to spit it out. I hadn't specified that I wanted "plain water" so I had been given a lovely glass of sparkling water. My poor American mouth had never had water's salty and carbonated friend before. I found Christian's pitcher of normal water and washed away the evil aftertaste. Finally I grabbed a pillow and stretched out for my nap. I looked up at the ceiling for a moment before I closed my eyes. "I love you Kathryn," the post-it note said. "You'd better!" I thought as I grinned and rolled over, trying once again not to throw up.
The first person I saw was the man I grew to claim as my Opa. Then I saw my new sister and my boyfriend's Mum. I'm pretty sure I hugged them and managed a smile that came out as more of a grimace. I'm also fairly certain that I was able to refrain from hysterical nervous laughter. Added together, I counted that as a win. I was so terrified and sleep deprived I felt like my surroundings had been set to spin. In an airport in a foreign country you don't need help becoming disoriented but every last detail piled up. Lara was speaking English to me and then German to her mother. Rosa (my boyfriend's Mum) was speaking German to Lara, occassional English to me, and Spanish to her father. My German was limited, my Spanish was rusty, and frankly, 6am on the other side of the world when my head wanted to think it was midnight and time to crawl in bed... well, that was making me unable to speak English. Not only did I not know where I was, I couldn't understand a bloody thing that was being said.
That airport is gigantic. No, gigantic doesn't even come close enough to describing it. They are not kidding when they call it an "airport city." And oh blessed airplane airconditioning I was so sorry to leave you! I would of course travel to Germany in the middle of one of their hottest summers. As soon as we started walking down the eight thousand mile hallway to find what level of hell they had parked on I had two very urgent questions. My first question was, "Who the hell packed my suitcase with all this crap?" and the second question was, "Am I sweating as much as I think I am?" The answers were of course "You did you idiot," and "No, not unless I am leaving puddles behind me." I did check and there did not appear to be puddles behind me so I think I was safe. Stench on the other hand, could have been questionable.
I was pondering if anyone would notice if I leaned on my suitcase to dry-heave for a moment when I had another question pop into my head. How on earth do you tell a 78 year old man that you can pull your own suitcase? Two years of of Spanish in high school and I'm trying to prevent my new grandfather from having a heart attack and all I can remember how to say is "shampoo." Who says you don't learn anything in high school? Sadly I cannot blame high school for my inability to tell Rosa in German, "I'm delighted to meet you but so nervous and jetlagged I think I may throw up." It's a pity.
We finally made it to an elevator. But oh, they forgot to pay for parking so off they went. I remained by the elevator and cooked in the heat while I waited. When they returned and we made our way through the vehicles I started to feel like I was going to pass out. "NOT NOW! NOT NOW! NOT NOW! NOT NOW!" I screamed to my brain. I don't know if it was my prayers, the verbal assault I had given my brain, or a combination but somehow I made it to the vehicle. Ever since last year at about this time I have become a tremendous fainter and I have no idea how I managed to get through the heat and nerves that wanted to pull me down that day. If I had known what was about to happen I think I would have opted to faint. We were on the 11th (or 1011th?) floor of a garage and began what felt as a descent into hell. I'm pretty sure going down that ramp involves completely cutting your wheel. It is a one-way spiral of puke. If I had seen a similiar setup on a rollercoaster when I was nine I would have jumped for joy. As a 23 year old in an SUV who already feels like throwing up... I almost peed myself. If I hadn't just gotten off a nine hour flight that was determined to feed the passengers meals that resembled dog food - I would have vomited. My frustration at Lufthansa food ended the second I started blessing my empty stomach. While Lara and her mother bickered about something in German I put my head down on my lap and I will admit it, dry heaved. Thankfully I am a puking professional and managed to retch without much noise. I am confident about this because I feel they would have teased me by now.
I don't think the sun has ever been as bright as it was that morning. Fishing out my sunglasses from my carry-on would have made far too much sense so I simply squinted at my surroundings. I was so relieved to see so much countryside. Wheat fields have never looked as beautiful as they did to this country girl who was terrified her boyfriend would find Maine too rural. After dropping Opa off at his darling little house with the front lawn covered in gnomes and getting my first (of many!) Oma hugs, we finally were within minutes of my boyfriend's house. I was anxious to get settled in. Christian hadn't gone to the airport because he had a final that he needed to take but had promised to be back as soon as possible.
I stared in wonder at the two dozen little brown rabbits that dashed across the lawn in front of me as I started toward the house. I thought I was hallucinating. Good job Katie, some people see purple elephants and all you can conjure up are little itty bitty bunnies! I later found out that these small rabbits are Germany's pest animal (and I would see them and photograph them everywhere) but man, nothing compares to the confusion I felt at that moment. But then I was finally inside. I was fussed and fretted over but only requested a glass of water to take my medicine with. They walked me downstairs and I collapsed on the bed. The window was opened and the lights were shut off as they left me to nap. Unsuspecting, I took a big gulp of water as I reached for my pills. "Poison!" my brain informed me as I desperately looked for a place to spit it out. I hadn't specified that I wanted "plain water" so I had been given a lovely glass of sparkling water. My poor American mouth had never had water's salty and carbonated friend before. I found Christian's pitcher of normal water and washed away the evil aftertaste. Finally I grabbed a pillow and stretched out for my nap. I looked up at the ceiling for a moment before I closed my eyes. "I love you Kathryn," the post-it note said. "You'd better!" I thought as I grinned and rolled over, trying once again not to throw up.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
2
Pitiful but shrill little meows made us all jump. It was my brother's birthday and we were standing in the garage that's been made in part of our barn. My eyes were starting to glaze over with all of the car talk when I heard those little cries. I called out, "Here kitty kitty" or something equally inane and suddenly a black kitten came wobbling down the stairs from the hayloft. As soon as I crouched down he came over and circled around me. I reached my hand out and he immediately started nuzzling me. As soon as I started petting him he began to purr. It was not a regular soft little cat purr. He had a full on diesel engine power purr.
Emotions flooded me as I realized that this kitten was meant to own me. Some people think they own their cats but I've had cats all my life and I know the truth. I will sit in a different chair to avoid making them move and I've certainly spent many nights sleeping in awkward positions because I didn't want to move one of my fur-kids. I think the most important part of that black kitten and indeed, all of my animals is not that I rescued them. The truth is that they rescue me.
I am an unstoppable stray feeder. I am constantly putting dishes out for any animals that I see. I'm also one of those people who will carry a mouse outside and relocate them instead of poisoning them or setting traps. I know that I am not meant to own most of these animals. But when I picked up the starving little kitten I knew that we were supposed to be together. Why I had that thought is beyond me. I was living in an apartment at my parents house with 2 cats, 1 dog, 5 birds, and fish. I certainly didn't have room for anymore "children." I was also discussing moving in with my at the time boyfriend who already had a cat and was desperately trying to convince me that I should leave my pets with my parents. Why I knew that this cat would become mine, I just don't know.
My boyfriend was trying to find an ally in any of the people at the barn. In spite of the fact that the kitten's head was a thousand times bigger than his emaciated body he kept stating that he was "fine" and that I should leave him alone. I ran my fingers over his tiny body with his large frame that was stretched tight from his obvious lack of food. The smell of skunk was nearly suffocating but nobody else seemed to notice it was coming from the new love of my life.
A quick look determined he was male and I started thinking of names as I put him on the ground. "If he'll follow me to the house I'm going to at least feed him," I said, very aware of how unpopular this decision was with my boyfriend. But it was not possible for me to care about his opinion any less than I did at that moment. And sure enough, the scrawny little guy that would soon be dubbed Professor Oliver Catkins took off after me, purr at full speed, down to the house. The first bowl of food I gave him disappeared in about ten seconds. I've never seen anything eat with as much hunger. The vet ended up estimating that he was eight months old so he'd been hunting to feed himself for a while but obviously wasn't successful enough to meet the caloric needs of a growing cat.
By the time I was done feeding him and giving him water it was time for board games. But when I shut the bathroom door Oliver panicked. I don't know if it was losing sight of me after I had given him all that food or if it was because someone had already so callously closed a door on him when they threw him away as a kitten. Something in him snapped though. His desperate pleas didn't go long before they were answered. I wrapped him up in a small blanket and cuddled him on my lap. In less than two minutes he was sound asleep. I don't think anyone could have woken him up. I alternated between holding him like a baby and sitting him on my lap. I soon realized how deep his sleep was and my family passed him around. He slept on, oblivious to our murmurs of how adorable his little kitty sleep/coma was. The rag-doll like cuddles were what sealed the deal for my Mum.
I fell in love when I first held him. I fell in love again when he woke up later that evening, spotted my pug, and instantly decided that happiness was snuggling Snickers. Now the sight of black and fawn fur snuggled together is a common thing at my house. My dream of having fur-kids that snuggle has come true. Like a baby duck, Oliver decided that he needed to imprint on something. I now have a cat that rolls over for belly scratches and plays fetch. And he thinks his big brother is the creator of all things catnip or pepperoni.
I've had him for one year, four months, and thirteen days. Whether he is waltzing across my keyboard as I try to write or headbutting me awake at 3am - I am utterly devoted. I often wonder how many people take as much comfort from their animals as I do. I don't need Valium, I have cats. That same sweet power purr of the my newest family member still makes me smile, just like it did the very first day we met.
Emotions flooded me as I realized that this kitten was meant to own me. Some people think they own their cats but I've had cats all my life and I know the truth. I will sit in a different chair to avoid making them move and I've certainly spent many nights sleeping in awkward positions because I didn't want to move one of my fur-kids. I think the most important part of that black kitten and indeed, all of my animals is not that I rescued them. The truth is that they rescue me.
I am an unstoppable stray feeder. I am constantly putting dishes out for any animals that I see. I'm also one of those people who will carry a mouse outside and relocate them instead of poisoning them or setting traps. I know that I am not meant to own most of these animals. But when I picked up the starving little kitten I knew that we were supposed to be together. Why I had that thought is beyond me. I was living in an apartment at my parents house with 2 cats, 1 dog, 5 birds, and fish. I certainly didn't have room for anymore "children." I was also discussing moving in with my at the time boyfriend who already had a cat and was desperately trying to convince me that I should leave my pets with my parents. Why I knew that this cat would become mine, I just don't know.
My boyfriend was trying to find an ally in any of the people at the barn. In spite of the fact that the kitten's head was a thousand times bigger than his emaciated body he kept stating that he was "fine" and that I should leave him alone. I ran my fingers over his tiny body with his large frame that was stretched tight from his obvious lack of food. The smell of skunk was nearly suffocating but nobody else seemed to notice it was coming from the new love of my life.
A quick look determined he was male and I started thinking of names as I put him on the ground. "If he'll follow me to the house I'm going to at least feed him," I said, very aware of how unpopular this decision was with my boyfriend. But it was not possible for me to care about his opinion any less than I did at that moment. And sure enough, the scrawny little guy that would soon be dubbed Professor Oliver Catkins took off after me, purr at full speed, down to the house. The first bowl of food I gave him disappeared in about ten seconds. I've never seen anything eat with as much hunger. The vet ended up estimating that he was eight months old so he'd been hunting to feed himself for a while but obviously wasn't successful enough to meet the caloric needs of a growing cat.
By the time I was done feeding him and giving him water it was time for board games. But when I shut the bathroom door Oliver panicked. I don't know if it was losing sight of me after I had given him all that food or if it was because someone had already so callously closed a door on him when they threw him away as a kitten. Something in him snapped though. His desperate pleas didn't go long before they were answered. I wrapped him up in a small blanket and cuddled him on my lap. In less than two minutes he was sound asleep. I don't think anyone could have woken him up. I alternated between holding him like a baby and sitting him on my lap. I soon realized how deep his sleep was and my family passed him around. He slept on, oblivious to our murmurs of how adorable his little kitty sleep/coma was. The rag-doll like cuddles were what sealed the deal for my Mum.
I fell in love when I first held him. I fell in love again when he woke up later that evening, spotted my pug, and instantly decided that happiness was snuggling Snickers. Now the sight of black and fawn fur snuggled together is a common thing at my house. My dream of having fur-kids that snuggle has come true. Like a baby duck, Oliver decided that he needed to imprint on something. I now have a cat that rolls over for belly scratches and plays fetch. And he thinks his big brother is the creator of all things catnip or pepperoni.
I've had him for one year, four months, and thirteen days. Whether he is waltzing across my keyboard as I try to write or headbutting me awake at 3am - I am utterly devoted. I often wonder how many people take as much comfort from their animals as I do. I don't need Valium, I have cats. That same sweet power purr of the my newest family member still makes me smile, just like it did the very first day we met.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Nature
Nature meant the most to me when I realize how much I had taken it for granted. It was, I discovered, like my health and having my family around constantly, something I didn't think about how much I loved until it wasn't there. The apartment in Boston was gorgeous. Two bedrooms on the third floor of a building with the most beautiful stained glass windows in the hallway. It was also however, in a city and a few blocks to the nearest park. And, as we discovered much to my pug's horror, a large parking lot away to the nearest patch of grass. Snickers the pug, a dog of high standards, held out on even the most urgent of bathroom trips and refused to poop on pavement. I can't say as I blamed him.
Although our apartment had all the comforts of home it lacked something critical. Lucky for me, My Mum had anticipated this need. Soon after we moved in we filled our little balcony with potted plants and flowers. A homemade sign from my grandfather reading "Katie's Garden" was placed in the front of the array of pots. Any hours I had free (and during which I was able to sit up) were spent in that little garden. Looking at the pictures now I realize how comical it was. All of the empty balconies that were used only for setting empty bottles or spare things on were in sharp contrast to my beautiful garden three stories up. You saw a blank building and then our apartment's explosion of greenery. This is how we earned the title, "Flower People" among all of the people in our building who knew English as their second or third language (every apartment but one other than us). I was so grateful for those plants. They took me back to where I needed to be. When at home in Maine during my treatment I found my peace by stretching out on the lawn in the middle of my Mum's expansive flower garden. Those potted plants brought that world to me.
To me, the most exquisite nature in Boston is the Healing Garden at Mass General's Yawkey Building. It was as if someone with a budget far larger than mine had seen the need for nature in the lives of cancer patients and made it a gorgeous reality. Eight floors up in the middle of Boston and the middle of the mini-city that is the Mass General Hospital campus was an unbelievable garden. It was a long walk from the elevators down the sterile hallways to get to the Healing Garden. The ramp going up to the room was so gradual that it almost felt like a transition time to prepare yourself for what lay behind the doors at the top.
For all the memories that seem to not exist due to the magical effect of IV Ativan... I can still remember the Healing Garden perfectly. It seems like that would only make sense because I spent at least part of most days there, but other parts of my life have been completely forgotten. It's as if months of my life never even happened. Considering how those months went, it is a blessing really, but it's still unnerving. But every inch of that sunroom and garden feel like they are burned into my brain. When we go for checkups I still love to visit.
Immediately when you walk in you can pick a smooth stone ("worry stones") out of a pot and sign the guestbook. My Dad has an entire collection of Healing Garden stones because I always made sure I had a "good one" to give him for the weekends when he visited. My best find was the one that resembled a heart. A slightly misshapen heart, but still, a heart. Even remembering the perfection of that room overwhelms me. It is green everywhere you look. The contrast of that room with all of the other rooms in that building made my knees buckle on more than one occasion. I felt as if the room almost spoke to me, "Go ahead. You can relax here. Breathe. Rest."
The dark and shiny wood of the bench in the sun room that I always sought out was certainly not the most comfortable place I have ever curled up. And yet, I spent more hours napping on that bench that anyone could count. We started calling it "Katie's Resting Place" after my favorite childhood book "Lovable Furry Old Grover's Resting Places." It gave me a chance to rest my tired body and, most importantly, put my head down. It was the only place outside of the bed infusion rooms that I could put my head down. The rest of the time was spent resting my head on my Mum's shoulder. I didn't cry on her shoulder a lot but I certainly slept on it plenty! The sun room was also a lovely way to combat staring at blank walls when I was unable to sleep. Instead of the cold atmosphere of the hospital rooms I was able to look around at plants everywhere the eye could see. Ferns, giant shiny leaves on potted trees, plants hung from the ceiling, gorgeous orchids, and everything you could think of. Never has a room created the serenity that the Healing Garden sun room has.
Outside was the best part. Despite being in the middle of the noise of a city and the noise of the hospital, the garden was always peaceful and quiet. You could only hear the faint sounds of life eight stories down but mostly you heard the birds. If you looked past the plexiglass that surrounded the edges it was easy to forget that you were in man-made nature. It had assorted benches and chairs that were each sectioned off into semi-private areas. My favorite bench was between two full-size trees. You had a perfect view of the city and on hot days the slight breeze was wonderful. It was also just far enough away from the water feature to keep you from needing to pee constantly! Another favorite activity was to kick off my shoes and walk around in the grass barefoot. That was definitely not something I could do the the park nearby where we lived. The constant ever changing variety of different plants and flowers was always a welcome distraction. I also loved to look at the funny garden statues that depicted medical professionals as little aliens landing - complete with their little spaceship. It was utterly surreal to have such a complete garden in that location but somehow they pulled it off. We had sun or shade, grass, plants, and almost miraculously, healthy full-size trees.
If anyone had told me five years ago that one of my favorite places in nature would be eight stories up and in a hospital I would have thought they were crazy. But the Healing Garden changed all of that. Yes, it was probably closer to "artificial" than "natural" but it brought this country girl the plants, trees, and grass she needed to keep sane. It makes me wonder about the people who had the idea for the garden initially. I like to think that they stretched out on their front lawns as ants crawled over them to keep from going crazy during their treatments too. The past-time I started to help me feel more "grounded" during the chaos of cancer revealed itself eight stories above ground. How you can feel closer to the earth and calmed when you're actually that high up and over the building that has caused you such distress is beyond me but that's the magic effect of nature.
Although our apartment had all the comforts of home it lacked something critical. Lucky for me, My Mum had anticipated this need. Soon after we moved in we filled our little balcony with potted plants and flowers. A homemade sign from my grandfather reading "Katie's Garden" was placed in the front of the array of pots. Any hours I had free (and during which I was able to sit up) were spent in that little garden. Looking at the pictures now I realize how comical it was. All of the empty balconies that were used only for setting empty bottles or spare things on were in sharp contrast to my beautiful garden three stories up. You saw a blank building and then our apartment's explosion of greenery. This is how we earned the title, "Flower People" among all of the people in our building who knew English as their second or third language (every apartment but one other than us). I was so grateful for those plants. They took me back to where I needed to be. When at home in Maine during my treatment I found my peace by stretching out on the lawn in the middle of my Mum's expansive flower garden. Those potted plants brought that world to me.
To me, the most exquisite nature in Boston is the Healing Garden at Mass General's Yawkey Building. It was as if someone with a budget far larger than mine had seen the need for nature in the lives of cancer patients and made it a gorgeous reality. Eight floors up in the middle of Boston and the middle of the mini-city that is the Mass General Hospital campus was an unbelievable garden. It was a long walk from the elevators down the sterile hallways to get to the Healing Garden. The ramp going up to the room was so gradual that it almost felt like a transition time to prepare yourself for what lay behind the doors at the top.
For all the memories that seem to not exist due to the magical effect of IV Ativan... I can still remember the Healing Garden perfectly. It seems like that would only make sense because I spent at least part of most days there, but other parts of my life have been completely forgotten. It's as if months of my life never even happened. Considering how those months went, it is a blessing really, but it's still unnerving. But every inch of that sunroom and garden feel like they are burned into my brain. When we go for checkups I still love to visit.
Immediately when you walk in you can pick a smooth stone ("worry stones") out of a pot and sign the guestbook. My Dad has an entire collection of Healing Garden stones because I always made sure I had a "good one" to give him for the weekends when he visited. My best find was the one that resembled a heart. A slightly misshapen heart, but still, a heart. Even remembering the perfection of that room overwhelms me. It is green everywhere you look. The contrast of that room with all of the other rooms in that building made my knees buckle on more than one occasion. I felt as if the room almost spoke to me, "Go ahead. You can relax here. Breathe. Rest."
The dark and shiny wood of the bench in the sun room that I always sought out was certainly not the most comfortable place I have ever curled up. And yet, I spent more hours napping on that bench that anyone could count. We started calling it "Katie's Resting Place" after my favorite childhood book "Lovable Furry Old Grover's Resting Places." It gave me a chance to rest my tired body and, most importantly, put my head down. It was the only place outside of the bed infusion rooms that I could put my head down. The rest of the time was spent resting my head on my Mum's shoulder. I didn't cry on her shoulder a lot but I certainly slept on it plenty! The sun room was also a lovely way to combat staring at blank walls when I was unable to sleep. Instead of the cold atmosphere of the hospital rooms I was able to look around at plants everywhere the eye could see. Ferns, giant shiny leaves on potted trees, plants hung from the ceiling, gorgeous orchids, and everything you could think of. Never has a room created the serenity that the Healing Garden sun room has.
Outside was the best part. Despite being in the middle of the noise of a city and the noise of the hospital, the garden was always peaceful and quiet. You could only hear the faint sounds of life eight stories down but mostly you heard the birds. If you looked past the plexiglass that surrounded the edges it was easy to forget that you were in man-made nature. It had assorted benches and chairs that were each sectioned off into semi-private areas. My favorite bench was between two full-size trees. You had a perfect view of the city and on hot days the slight breeze was wonderful. It was also just far enough away from the water feature to keep you from needing to pee constantly! Another favorite activity was to kick off my shoes and walk around in the grass barefoot. That was definitely not something I could do the the park nearby where we lived. The constant ever changing variety of different plants and flowers was always a welcome distraction. I also loved to look at the funny garden statues that depicted medical professionals as little aliens landing - complete with their little spaceship. It was utterly surreal to have such a complete garden in that location but somehow they pulled it off. We had sun or shade, grass, plants, and almost miraculously, healthy full-size trees.
If anyone had told me five years ago that one of my favorite places in nature would be eight stories up and in a hospital I would have thought they were crazy. But the Healing Garden changed all of that. Yes, it was probably closer to "artificial" than "natural" but it brought this country girl the plants, trees, and grass she needed to keep sane. It makes me wonder about the people who had the idea for the garden initially. I like to think that they stretched out on their front lawns as ants crawled over them to keep from going crazy during their treatments too. The past-time I started to help me feel more "grounded" during the chaos of cancer revealed itself eight stories above ground. How you can feel closer to the earth and calmed when you're actually that high up and over the building that has caused you such distress is beyond me but that's the magic effect of nature.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)