Peace after war

(to answer the two most common tattoo questions: #1, yes, it did hurt, but no, it didn't hurt much, and #2, $125. There, that's over).



Two things happened yesterday.

My ex came and picked up the last of his stuff, except for a couple of boxes of books. The farm is now mine in all but name, and my husband, other than signing taxes, is finally gone, gone, gone. I wandered about the cavernous lower barn yesterday, looking at all the work that needs to be done, and all the potential that lies there. It was kind of like discovering a cool old tree house on your property. I felt the stirrings of some long-lost twelve-year old.

(there is a nuthatch tapping at the porch roof over my head as I type this. There is something fitting about that. Hey, buddy, knock it off!)

The second event was that my tattoo artist called and said she had a cancellation, and was I interested in coming in at 3:00 instead of waiting until the end of September?

Well, how is that for great timing? So I shook out my wedding-ring pawn-shop money and headed into town. Ithaca was in its usual state of "periods of bright sun alternating with alarming downpours" but I watched it all, laughing and dry, in a chair at Medusa Tattoo.

I had SUCH fun sitting there laughing with Carol, the artist, and one of her friends/clients who wandered in for a visit and gave me a running commentary of all her very beautiful tattoos (and hers WERE beautiful tattoos) and her life, while furious kittens scratched at my upper arm (well..that's what it felt like). Periodically a person would walk in, taking refuge from the rain, and ask questions.

I think perhaps there may be no more interesting place than a tattoo parlor. Lots of people trying to find a way to express who they are--or who they think they are, or who they want to be--in a piece of art that they haul around everywhere they go and have to look at every day. I'm guessing people who come in for lots of tattoos might return just to be part of that comradarie over and over again.

The Latin "pax" I chose for the tattoo means "peace." More exactly, the reconciled peace after war. I need a reminder to continue to try to toss off being angry, and to celebrate those generous people in my life (both female and male) who are true friends, or acquaintances who appear in my life with genuine kindness.

I need a reminder that I am truly blessed and for me to continue to complain has reached a point where anger has served its purpose and it's time to let it go.

If it's not my ex that angers me, it will be something else in the future. There are always complications in life, and let's face it, life is only getting shorter. I want to live the remainder of mind dedicated to a peaceful existence rather than an angry one.

I haven't decided if the cat is resting, or recovering from a bit of a headache (as I smile). That paw by the head doesn't look as relaxed as it could--but then maybe there is some unexpected personal symbolism in that.

As a person who never has a good experience with haircuts ("at least it will grow out"), sitting down for a tattoo was a serious exercise in trust. I'd seen the cats Carol had done, so I was fairly certain she had the understanding to do them right. Nonetheless, until you walk over to their mirror, there is a certain underlying trepidation. I mean, I could have ended up with a really really stupid-looking cat on my arm, forever. Have you seen some of the cat tattoos out there? Most of them are way too "Hello Kitty" for me.

I also thought long and hard about whether I was willing to endure people asking me if I had had a cat named "Pax" for the rest of my life. But given that probably only five people a year are even going to see my upper arm, I'm not too worried about it. I don't commonly run around in sleeveless shirts. Explaining to a few strangers that it means "reconciliation" doesn't seem like such a bad thing to me.

So there you go--two milestones on a single Saturday.

Life is good.

Weight off my mind

It seems like there's never enough time for blogging anymore, but I'm so pleased with progress done yesterday that I just have to sit down with my coffee on the porch and take a break from email, phone calls, etc.

The day before yesterday, the mower place finally called (they said it would be awhile) and said they could pick up the old mowers in the barn. True to their word they showed up yesterday morning and loaded them up. I told them which ones I wanted fixed, and which ones I wanted to never see again. Unfortunately I had to leave them for a phone meeting, so I didn't get to ask them to look at my new mower, whose battery won't hold a charge (sigh).

That would have been enough good news for the day, except around 4:00 while I was tapping away at email, I heard someone on the porch. It was Buck, who hunts on my property, and what had he brought but a gorgeous huge mower on a trailer to mow the hill trails, and tar to start patching the cabin roof. And off he went, for nearly two and half hours.








More later, gotta go back to work!

You know I can never get a recipe right.

You've just gotta be sure to read the comments!

As the days grow shorter...

It has been hard to miss that dusk comes more quickly. Alarmingly so. In a handful of days it will be September. By 7:00 pm, the sharp brightness is already off the day. As every day grows shorter, it seems like I smell snow on the wind.

I'm absolutely not ready for another winter, but I guess I'll have to be.

I love my dinners on the porch. I had Kline Construction out to give me a quote on screening it in. I didn't ask if they would be able to fit it in before the snow fell. The cats will enjoy going outside, and I'm sure Molly would be happy not being confined to her string (cable) all the time she is outdoors. Although on her string she can't reach my tablecloth and chew it to bits!



From here I can watch the entire Owl Creek Road world go by, from cars, to walkers, to bikers, and the occasional horse rider. Once winter rolls in, I huddle inside.



And there is nothing more amusing than watching Molly (who has the "bouncy" advantage) and Bear (who has the weight advantage by 6 lbs) spar on the porch over a stuffed cow (a gift from Nancy C. that Molly ignored until it became an OUTDOOR cow! Bury it a few times and it becomes absolutely fascinating).

So I am trying to make the house more comfortable for both humans an animals alike, since we will be confined in here for the long long months of winter. I bought some cheap pieces of furniture on Craigslist and turned what was once the bedroom into a sort of study for the cats. The art they study, of course, is Napping. With the bed in here, poor Norma was left alone in the great Siberia. Occasionally Nellie came up to cuddle with her (Norma, of feral background, refuses to come downstairs). But now it's the most popular room in the house.



Things are good, I think. I'm surrounded by reminders of all my thoughtful friends. I have a virtual river of them. There are cherry and grape tomatoes in my pasta-tomato-greek olive dinner from Christy and Gordon. And my soft sweater came to me via Nancy's garage sale. If I didn't know better, I'd think she put this pin out there just for me to find, as well.

Because it pretty much sums up my life this year! Cheerful but slightly off the wall!



(ummmm..."slightly"?)

Yes, it's only eight sixteen, it's nearly full dark, the crescent moon is bright, and the automatic lights have turned on. While the heat has only just arrived this year, it is actually not summer any longer. Let's face it (as a breeze brings another flight of leaves down). It's nearly fall.

Is this not a LOL picture waiting for a caption?

I just haven't figured out what it is yet!

Next steps...

I have to say, "just keeping my head above water" is no longer working out.

The property is too large, the job takes too much time, the cats are being cared for but not adopted out because there are no additional hours for off-site adoptions and creative advertising. A day off at work puts me behind at work. A rainstorm puts me
behind in lawn work.

However, I don't wake up to a "surprise extra day" one week. And a sunny day doesn't give more hours.

I have foster homes. I have friends. I have family I can talk to. I am not lacking for people. What I am lacking is time. And I'm afraid this is a finite universe. No one is going to hand me another ten hours each day.

I've talked to some enthusiastic folks about moving in here for "work-for-rent", and what frightens me is it appears they may take even more time than what they might produce in help with the cats, or with help with the property.

Some of them want to "learn about rescue" as if they believe living here will be an internship rather than work-for-rent. Some just want a cheap place to live and I don't get the feeling that they are willing to sweat under the hot sun with a weedwacker, or get up an extra hour early to shovel snow PLUS take care of the cats before work. I envision a sink full of dishes for two instead of one, or more animals running around the house, or a dirthy bathroom.

One of the advantages of living alone is that I did find my housework takes much less time. :)

I haven't yet found a person sounds enough like they "get it." Some of the people who sort of sound like they "get it" have quite a few animals themselves. I really can only fit perhaps one more dog and a cat or two. Even then there would have to be no more fostering of kittens in the house.

I've continued to work with a professional counselor/time manager, but it's not quite the success I'd hoped for. For example, I'm told "You must stop work at quitting time on Friday. Saturday must be for you. If you must work on the weekend, pick a log-in and log-out time on Sunday so you are up-to-date on Monday." It does sound good on paper. But if someone has questions just after 6 on Friday, and it doesn't get dealt with until Sunday it can make for a frantic Sunday or Monday a.m.

Sometimes I realize I haven't walked the dog, or gotten out to take care of the cats at the normal time. That is simply unacceptable. These are living creatures. By virtue of the fact that they live and breathe, they have to be priority number one.

So with all due respect to the time manager, it ain't working out as simply as it's listed in the pamphlets. I'm told: "You should only have six things on your to-do list each day." Well, maybe if I defined things broadly, like just "Work. Cats. House. Personal Hygiene, Shopping, Friends/Family" I might be able to get it down to six. :)

And then we explore: "Perhaps you have too many things on your plate." We've discussed me going back to being an admin assistant, selling the farm, stopping the cat work, and starting from scratch since no one will be able to find me. But I'm 47. Do I give up everything I enjoy? I'm told "Well, you'll be able to eat out all you want; spend time with friends and family." Yes, until I'm in a wheelchair. Then what do I look back on?

So I decided that I just have to deal with the cats and commitments I currently have and just say "no" to new cats. This has been a tough decision to make, especially at this time of year. However, with the phone message changed (Sorry, can't take cats), a new email autoresponse on (Sorry, can't take cats)...

...People have taken to showing up on my porch.

On Friday, someone showed up with a whole box of kittens...their own. I don't blame anyone for looking for help with a stray, or feral cats, but if you drive a nicer vehicle than mine, and have at least the same educational background I do, you are able to find a home for your own kittens. You have access to the same resources I do. I began with my usual patter about home-finding, but the person was not getting the hint. Finally I was blunt: You have the same financial resources I do. You have more space than I do. You need to find homes for these kittens yourself. If I can do it, you can do it. We are both intelligent human beings, and I already have 5 adoptable kittens ramming around my house and seventeen cats for adoption in my facility, not to mention 6 pet cats. If you leave these kittens on my porch, I have your license plate number and I'll call the troopers.

That did NOT go over well. I wonder now if they dumped the kittens alongside the road somewhere. That kind of thing robs you of sleep. I literally have no room here, and I have two people who really DO need help, who aren't responsible for the kittens on their doorstep.

Then I came home Saturday ("my day for myself and friends/family"), and someone else had been by and left a note about a stray (pictured above). Hey, I don't blame them for looking for help where ever they can get it. But that's two in two days, and I assume it will only get worse. I can't avoid answering my door, because my dog is out there during the day, surveying her tiny kingdom. Then I go in the house, and there are messages on the machine. Then I check my Wildrun email...you get the drift.

There are alternatives. I could set up a volunteer network to call people back, just as I have people who foster, and people who come by to care for the cats when I'm out of town. But there comes a point where the rescue keeps getting bigger and bigger, rather than maintaining its size. At what point do you stop?

It becomes a customer-service dilemma. Do I have a responsibility to help all these people? Well, if I have a web site that says I help, I guess I do.

So it's time to update the website as well, so it's clear that it's a web site about teaching people to help themselves, period. I no longer have the time to run out and respond personally. I enjoy doing it, but right now, the time just isn't there.

I will be posting volunteer needs on the Wildrun blog directly. I do realize that if you need help, you have to ask for it, but you have to be clear.

So I'll be clear.

Wildrun has to stay small, or it has to go. And sadly, if one other thing goes (the job, the farm) then the cat rescue goes as well. Because I need the job to pay for it, and I need the farm to house it. I can buy a smaller place, but it would cost more per month than this spot, because I would need a larger mortgage and would need to renovate for the cats.

There aren't any simple answers. But we all know that. We all run up against the same things...just different issues in all our different lives. If you've come up with any magic time-savers, please feel free to post them in comments!

One of the problems with blogging...

...is that it tends to take the place of regular journaling. Of course, you can write anything you want in a journal (unless you have a little sister in the house who will find it no matter where you hide it). You ought not write anything you'd like on your blog.

If you blog a lot, you find that you often "blog while living...." sort of writing posts in your head while doing things throughout the day. Obviously all those real-time creations don't end up in the blog. Probably almost none of them do.

So when I get the urge to post something...unwise. Or something that with ultimately make me look rather...pathetic...in the long run. I just sit down at my computer and look for the music and links that I might use in such a post, and after about a half hour, I'm content.

Then I run off into the sunshine, happy to have "posted" my frustration out, but pleased with my restraint.

and there you go.

Feeling the wind through our ears

I go through these weeks that are sort of foggy. It seems like things are clear. Seems like things are under control. Then one day, BING! Thing will be really clear, and it will be obvious I've been rather out of it for quite awhile.

This evening was one of those sessions of clarity, where I suddenly started cleaning house and only then realized things were cluttered (that morning it had seemed quite spiffy to me), made dinner and realized I had lots of options (whereas before there had been "nothing to eat"), and brewed myself a pot of tea, dusting off the teapot I hadn't used in weeks.

So odd.

Who is the playtoy? Kitten or dog?

There is nothing bouncier than a newly washed dog.

The magic of a towel

Cats are odd. I've had a cat bed kicking around for a number of months that no one much cares to sleep in. Last night the cats were seriously peeved because I had not one but two litters of kittens running around before they went off to foster homes, and there was hissing, growling, and general discontent, so I set up a few alternate sleeping spots. Cricket was going back and forth between two open windows, obviously unhappy, so I put the unused bed on the table near one window.

Her sneer was nearly audible.

I went in the closet and pulled out a cat towel and laid it over the bed. She immediately straightened, looked extremely pleased, and stepped right in.

Glad to make you happy, Cricket.

Non-statement of the month....

Sometimes I wonder who thinks up these things.

The fair had planned to include Jackson in a buttery display celebrating the lunar landing in 1969, but word of their plans prompted complaints to fair officials. They responded by putting the issue to a seven-day online vote.

The result released Friday wasn't close - with more than 100,000 votes, Jackson lost 65 percent to 35 percent.

Voters couldn't comment about the reasons for their stands, but fair spokeswoman Lori Chappell says earlier complaints focused on Jackson's lifestyle.

And, um, maybe the fact that Michael Jackson has absolutely NOTHING to do with celebration of the lunar landing? I'm sorry, but the moonwalk is really not a connection.

This unhappy man is dead, people. Throw "Thriller" on your vintage turntable and let him finally rest in peace, okay?

The lesson of the morning walk

Pre-post declaration for the benefit of family and friends: this is NOT a post of angst. Merely one of reflection.

One of the benefits of having a young dog is being forced to go for hikes. The dog technically can poop in the yard, but without regular exercise, they turn into little bundles of frustration and non-compliance. A happy dog is a tired dog.

Sadie was Mark's dog. When we were in West Danby, we had a fenced yard, and regularly scheduled walks weren't required. When we moved to Spencer, there was no fence, just a long quiet country road. So Mark took Sadie for a walk, every morning.

Now that I am walking Molly, it has been a beautiful revelation to see the seasons unfolding. Every day there is a new flower blooming. Some days it is chilly, some days hot, some days breezy, some days raining. I always return from the walk glad that we took it. While sometimes it's rough to get going, the walk itself is always great. Sometimes I run into neighbors, and we chat. Sometimes our walks coincide. I make Molly sit when cars come by (in anticipation of her one day getting loose and needing this "come-and-sit" obedience), and the local travelers appear to have gotten used to this.

Mark used to ask me to come along on his Sadie walks. Now and then I did, but I'll bet in eight years I can count those times on two hands. While I still don't believe that any change in our past would have turned Mark into a "I'll stand by your side through storm and illness" type of guy, I do think that, had I said yes, and we had walked every day, this might have given us the opportunity to share our frustrations and dreams, and perhaps he might even have opened up and blurted "I'm unhappy."

Maybe yes. Maybe no. I reflect upon it simply so that I can keep it in mind for the next time around, should there ever be one with another person.

There were always reasons for not joining him. When I worked at IC, there were limited hours to get up, get showered, dressed, and take care of the cats. I could have gotten up earlier, but I chose not to. Once I had my "career job" I was leaping on the computer in the morning to catch up.

I assumed there would be times in the future for walks. I was wrong.

After Mark walked out, I used to stand under the stars at night in the road, as I did my late-night cat check, and think "You know, he never was out here to stare at these stars, and hasn't fallen in love with this place like I have."

But now, having gone for these dog walks, I realize that he had a different connection that I never had myself, walking along our road each and every day. He had that connection but gave it up anyway. So I guess I need to give that one up as an answer, and also need to surrender my conceit that I knew our environment better than he did. I didn't. He walked daily, mowed the fields, etc. etc. He knew what he was walking away from probably better than I knew what I was keeping when I stayed.

So, with my lesson learned, I want to pass it onto my friends.

If you are sitting there in your daily life, realizing that you probably haven't spent as much time with your spouse as you ought to but "damn, I'm really busy, and he/she knows this, and there will be time in a few months, and I know he/she would tell me if they were unhappy..." well, don't count on it. If you have any regrets at all that perhaps you aren't being the partner and friend you ought to be, I suggest you reflect on that feeling now, rather than later. There may not be a later. I thought Mark was surely the kind of guy who would say "This is a problem...this needs to change." You may be similarly certain.

You may be right. Or, we both could be wrong. Why put things off the way I did?

Again, I'm not certain that this would have made any difference at all with my past relationship. I expect that at the end it would not have, but maybe, five years ago? Who knows, and it's too late anyway.

FILE: under "Lessons learned."

STATUS: enjoying my newly mown and raked lawn, on a gorgeous sunny Sunday.

I've opened comments

People can now post if they don't have a Blogger account. Sorry! I didn't realize I had that setting checked.

I am a Facebook whore...

...and have abandoned my poor blog readers. There's something nice about being able to post only one sentence a day on Facebook and have people know you are alive. You know...if there is no Facebook post for four days, and someone will come and make sure I'm not decomposing on the floor. But the fact is, a lot of people have been reading my blogs for a very long time and aren't on Facebook, and aren't going to get on Facebook. So there you go.

Blogs are about audience. If you don't write with at least a little bit of concern for your readers, well, you won't have any. Facebook is about connections. Twitter, as far as I'm concerned, is about marketing (personal or business). You have a Twitter account to promote yourself. (I have a Twitter account because for work I sometimes need to follow someone who is Twittering, but I don't post there at all). You have a Facebook account to reach out and be reachable. Once upon a time, both the roles, plus creativity, was what drove blog writing. But blogging takes work.

Facebook doesn't. It's an internet room where you get to see what your friends are up to in just a few clicks and a few minutes a day. Every once in awhile I'll take a quiz for the fun of it, but I don't play the games, swap the plants, etc. etc., mostly because I don't have time. I just want to see how everyone is and stay in touch.

My phone has rung when my "one sentence of the day" has sounded down-and-out to a friend, and I myself have done the same. I've found myself in face-to-face friend time after touching base via Facebook. For some reason when people read my blog, if they wish to contact me, they send an email. On Facebook, people ring my phone. Even from across the country.

But Facebook isn't my blog. Blogging is my first technic love, so I need to find time for it. Besides, on Facebook, photos are just albums. In blogging, they are part of the story.

It's quite catchy, too!

Here's the story.

I don't know why I'm not blogging

It has been an odd spring---now summer. While rainy, the weather has been kind. I don't like 80-90s type temperatures, so this long period of 70s weather has been blissful to me. It means the cats aren't sweltering in the cat facility, and the dog can go with me in the truck on cloudy days.

Life comes and goes. A catbird just stopped on the porch with a beak full of moths to feed her young. I feel no particular sorrow for them--just pleasure at seeing the catbird so closely. But then this particular moth arrives injured, spending his last days on my table, paralyzing me with the decision of whether or not to mercy-kill such a beautiful and large creature. It's not like squashing a fly spinning on the floor. Beauty and sadness together.



I've fallen into a rut of just listening to whatever is on the radio. This weekend I forced myself to choose some music rather than letting the top-40 spoon feed my audio to me. Supertramp is wailing from the other room, and earlier the Indigo Girls helped rouse me from this stupor I seem to be in.

When I'm uncertain about what's going on in my life, I've discovered that moving furniture is rather like having a cup of tea with a quarter-shot of whiskey. It's not really medicine, but it makes you feel better. I moved things around in my bedroom. I also ran across a maple table for $25 at a neighbor's garage table that goes well with my antique chairs. I scratched the hell out of the floor dragging it in the house, but I'm repainting the floor, so no regrets.

The round blonde table can go upstairs. For some reason I just can't do paperwork on a round table. Go figure.



The lawn was very nearly out of control because I was traveling for work last weekend. I managed to hack it into submission this weekend.

Travel with Dog

I'm traveling this weekend, and because I'm not flying I brought Molly along. She thought getting to sleep in bed with me was VERY cool. She curled up at 10:00 pm and didn't budge until I got up at 6:30 am. I was concerned she would be up and down and might pee on the carpet, which is the reason she sleeps crated at home. Well, that and the fact that Ivan and Ditzy would be very upset at sharing the bed with a canine.

She was a perfect princess at the Eastern States Hedgehog Show. When she was crated under the table, she never made a peep. She didn't bark or whine once during the entire show, and she thought the children were WONDERFUL! She wasn't sure about ferrets, and she thought hedgehogs were very cool. She sat on a chair behind the booth and other than a few out-of-control wigglefests, she was great.

Making her sit on a chair was a great discovery. Wigglefests are limited in scope when the dog only has an 18x18 pad upon which to wiggle, and she didn't try to jump because she had some height advantage. I remembered to bring a tape-roller which was a good thing. I had to do some fur removal from the chair at the end of the day.

If I can keep her out of trouble until she is five or so, she is going to be such a great travel dog!

She loves the outdoors, so camping with her wasn't a concern. After all, there is no problem if she pees in the campsite. I was very worried about the hotel experience, and I needn't have been. She did bark and whine once or twice while left in her crate in the hotel room when I went to the truck, the front desk, and the hotel internet station (since my laptop objected to the hotel wireless). When I arrived at the hotel room door and heard her whining, I told her "no" through the door, and waited outside for at least five minutes to make her her silence was permanent. Then I went in, let her out, praised her, and took her for a walk.

One learning moment was when I realized that she would have to be walked immediately upon waking in the morning. So I'll need to invest in a sweats rather than pjs or a ratty t-shirt to sleep in, because she's not going to be able to wait while I shower and dress, and I'm not going to parade around the outside of the hotel in plaid flannels or oversized conference t-shirts, thank-you-very-much.

There were two other dogs at the conference: a long-haired chihuahua and a pomeranian. Funny to have Molly to be the biggest dog there.

June is Goat Trauma Awareness Month!

Spread the word.

How I feel after four days of rain and two more to come...

And that, my fair friends, is sweet Hope, caught at a bad moment by Cary, her loving adoptive (and foster) mom, who of course has no shame and shared it for me to embarrass her cat internationally.

Quote of the day

Seen on a t-shirt in a video, worn by The Skunk Whisperer.

"I handle wild animals for a living. If I am running...KEEP UP!"

Love it.