How Does Your Garden Grow?

June passed in a blur, and now we're almost halfway through July.  I've noticed the older I get the faster time goes by.  If I blink now it'll be Christmas tomorrow.

Before I knew it, the school year was over.

In a blur of activity (and a school-wide water fight), he finished grade 1.  With a little less activity, but no less excitement, I finished another year of counseling elementary students.

Then we did a little of this...

... and a little bit more of this...

... and then some of this.

Actually, quite a lot of this.

Because?  Look at this:

Oh yes, we're already eating this.  That's something because this is the cold white north.  We've been eating lettuce for a while now, and we've got more on the go.  I've tripled my vegetable planting area this year, and it's keeping me busy.  I also have plans for more next year.  Some people might say I'm outta control.




But I don't think so.  At least, I'm not the only one loving the garden.

Moments With Ayanna

Ayanna is a big fan of tv watching, particularly animal shows, although she's not opposed to a good cartoon or action film.  Recently however, she has started to hog the remote.



Not cool, Ayanna!

And then when I try to get it away from her, she takes me on a wild goose chase and then hides.

But I always find her!



I don't think I'm the boss around here....

Gratuitous Chloe

She was especially cuddly this morning. How can you not love that?

Hello, Kitty!

There are some benefits to living within a couple of hours of the mountains and national parks.

(I stayed in the car for this shot.)

I Love Seeing Her In A Puddle Of Sunshine

Friday Morning

Sunday Morning Chloe

Another Sunday morning.

Another lazy sunshiny day.

I'm definitely NOT complaining.

Neither is Chloe.

Happy weekend, all!

Eyes of Yellow, Heart of Fluff

Today we're going to look at ... and very possibly poke fun at ... someone I've been neglecting photographically.

That's right, friends. The cat. Ayanna.

Or as I've been known to call her lately "Chubs", "Megatron", or even "Tone-Tone" (the last after our late beloved Tony who topped out at 27 pounds and whom Ayanna appears to imitate down to the last lazy flop in the sunshine or voracious eating of anything that lays in her path). All in the name of love, you know.

Nothing gets past her perky unflinching yellow eyes. She sees everything, even when you don't know she does ... and then she eats it.

She regularly trolls the breakfast, lunch and dinner table and the surrounding areas for anything The Boy might have missed. I've caught her slurping up soup and chowing down on old salad in the compost pail.

What I don't see her do, I find the evidence of muddy footprints crisscrossing the counters and stovetop - all thanks to a dash for freedom on an unusually sunny and warmish day that revealed a bit of earth under the slightly melting snow. Which, even after being accosted at the door with two adults and half a roll of paper towel, still managed to find its way to ... everywhere. (And thanks to my environmentally-minded and conservation-oriented cleaning habits, they're still there. It's all Mother Earth, right? Another story entirely....)

She loudly announces her dominance of all that is beneath, above and around her with her rumbling echoing purrs and snores.

All hail the Queen of Yellow!

Like you have a choice. She demands it.

A Christmas Story With Some Suspense And No Moral

Here's a heart-warming story for the Christmas season. Although the Christmas aspect might be little more than incidental, it still counts. After all, everything right now is about Christmas here.

I heard a scraping sound while I sat a lunch yesterday. I looked up and saw the cat -- Ayanna, the new cat, who obviously doesn't know any better -- had gotten behind a box I had on the counter, had her head down and was pushing my new 3-tier serving tray

with her head across the counter, from the back, toward the edge. I yelled out "No!" and lunged for it. Of course I was in the dining area, so it took a moment to get there. However, I made it just as a third of it was hanging over the floor. Did you see in the picture how the glass plates are on top of the box? Because I'm a moron.

Thankfully I caught it in time and no dishes or cats were harmed in the making of this post.

The conclusion to the story goes like this: after shooing her off the counter and grabbing the box and dishes, I saw Ayanna race over to the tree, fling herself at it like a mad Christmas monkey and start playing hockey with the ornaments.

She's really a gremlin, deep down in her heart.

I blame myself for feeding her after midnight.

And More Christmas

Whew! The wrapping is done. That is, all the wrapping except for the gift from *Santa*. I need to get different wrapping paper and a completely different style of bow. You know, to further the myth.

Speaking of which, I ran into a big problem the other week. It's one of those things that is on my mind and aggravates the heck out of me.

It's Santa.

"You'd better watch out, you'd better not cry, you'd better not shout, I'm telling you why;"

That's right. The red-suited old clown who insists on hood-winking young children into behaving. It's actually kinda creepy how "he knows if you are sleeping; he knows if you're awake; he knows if you've been bad or good..." If some old red-velvet clothed dude who sees me when I'm sleeping told me to hop on his lap and offered me candy you'd bet I'd scream and run. Which is probably why this happened:

And then when I asked him to smile, I got this:

The blur is my own fault. I was giggling to hard to hold the camera steady.

Don't misunderstand -- Evan was more than happy to go to see Santa. He asked for it; he wanted to. He couldn't imagine anything better. But when it came time, he froze. I say those are good instincts. Even though we're in public and mommy is right here, if you're uncomfortable, say so.

Afterwards, though, he was unhappy that he forgot to tell Santa what he wanted for Christmas.

Which brings me right around to the rest of this: I didn't want him to believe in Santa. From his first Christmas I've explained (because a 9-month-old understands these things) that Santa Claus is a cultural icon, representing the spirit of giving and goodwill, and fabricated around the saint who saved hundreds of children from slavery in the middle ages. In a nutshell. Of course he forgot about it because he mind cannot retain any pertinent information unless it's about one of his hobbies or how mean I am (which is a hobby in itself).

I tried to explain it all again to him this year, however the massive inpouring of cultural specificity regarding this joyous season overwhelmed him and rendered this subject taboo. And, of course, I'm mean for suggesting it.

Also, in a nutshell, he cried.

"There's no Santa?"

"Um, do you want me to lie to you?"

"What?"

"Would you rather I lie to you about Santa and tell you what you want to hear, or do you want the truth?"

"I want you to lie to me."

So that's how it is around here. I think deep down he knows there's no Santa, but for now, he'd like there to be one. And now I'm left holding the bag and supporting the myth.

He wants me to pretend? Okay, I'll pretend! We're going all out: the letter to Santa, the email from Santa, the rules and regulations about behavior and expectations that Santa has of young children, the cookies and milk (or in our case, the cupcakes and juice -- my preference), the cats being Santa's spies on behavior, etc. I'm working it.

"... so be good for goodness sake!"

Trust me, I'm using it completely for my advantage.

Sweet Mischief

I'm in a grump. A real big grump. It's about my camera. I'm falling out of love with it.

I used to love taking pictures and lately... not so much. You see, it's the focus. Or me. I think I broke the focus. Awhile back my photos were all coming out with a soft focus. I couldn't get that clear sharp edge. I studied the manual. I studied the internet. I thought I was doing everything right. Then I figured out that the camera needed adjusting. Off it went to the camera shop, and presto-changeo... a mere three weeks later (or an eternity to me), the focus was adjusted and my sharp clear photos were back.

I think I bumped my camera again. Soft focus is back. Blur is back. Either that or I need contacts or new eyeballs.

I don't even feel like using my camera now, but I'm still trying to overcome this new obstacle. It helps alot that Ayanna is very sweet. And mischievous. (See the ornament in the background? The one on the floor, not where it's supposed to be.)

But then she gives me this look and I can't scold her.

I'm a sucker, I know.

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Taken with my Canon Rebel XSi, and edited with iPhoto.

Ayanna

She was spotted by a little boy on a random completely accidental unprecedented visit. Their eyes met. It was love at first sight. Kismet.

Meant to be.

Totally in love.

I could go on and on and gush some more about how they were MFEO. Good thing I'm not a gusher. And anyways, who wants to hear that coming from your mom? (Good thing he can't read yet. Or competently use the computer to find this.)

Instead of gushing, here's a photo of the newest friend of the boy's, the newest family member. And Evan's newest reason for being.

The beauty of gray and yellow. This is the hottest new thing in fashion. Or so I've heard. At any rate, she wears it well.

But more about Ayanna...

She plays like a puppy. She chases things. Anything. A crumpled up piece of paper, a cat toy, a ball, a toy car, a toy anything. Even a soccer ball.

She plays soccer. With Evan. And then when she gets bored with it, she lays down on the sidelines and watches.

Noises interest her. She doesn't run from legos skittering across the tile floor or even the big tin car hurtling into the cupboard. Rather, she runs to add her mayhem to the madness.

She doesn't stop moving for long. (See the motion blur here? This is a very typical photo of Ayanna.) She's a girl on the go. She has places to smell and a new house to explore. Plus, a boy that needs playing with. Those are her own words.

(He's in seventh heaven.)

She's a beauty with attitude. And obviously enjoys the finer things in life, like elegant silk scarves and our company.

However...

There is someone here who is not too happy about our newest girl. She is singing her displeasure with great enthusiasm and volume. Mostly from her hiding spot in the darkest part of my closet. But frankly, anywhere will do.

You should hear what she has to say about this situation.

It's not pretty. But I think Ayanna is impressed a bit by her vocabulary. Or that Chloe can curse in seven cat languages. Frankly I'm a little impressed too.

I know she'll come around eventually... in five or six months. And then they'll at least tolerate each other, if not become grooming buddies or even the best of friends.

Who can resist this face?

At one time abandoned. Homeless. Unwanted.

She spent nearly a year at the SPCA. Think about that for a moment. Almost a whole year, unwanted, unloved.

But now... wanted. Loved. Home at last.

Help those animals today. If you can't adopt a pet, click here to donate for the care of animals in need of rescue or waiting for adoption.

Sweet Things - Captured

Today I'm especially thankful that my son is healthy and happy, and that one of my friend's sons came through surgery successfully and is on his return to health. (Let's just keep sending positive thoughts and prayers her way in the meantime.)

What sweet joy, finding these moments in life.

It's really not that hard to find. I mean, just look at that sweet face! (But try to ignore the underwear on his head. It was a thing.... never mind....)

It's not hard to find sweetness in this face. Nor in this one:

After all, who can resist the sweet warmth of a sunbathing kitty?

On the topic of sweet... sweet foods are rather rarish in our life because I primarily don't have a sweet tooth. But there's just enough treats for everyone else. Except this one was so good that I've been sneaking too many bites out of it. But isn't that the point... take in the sweetness of life? Or in my case, the sweetness of a welcome-to-our-new-house homemade (right out of the package) chocolate fudge cake with butter cream icing.

Sweet dreams!

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More sweetness awaits at I Should Be Folding Laundry.

Update On Moving

Countdown to moving day: just trying to keep up. Here's where we're at... more or less.

Cat taken to vet to check on health and order a sedative as she's a carry-on: don't need a sedative as vet recommends human gravol to keep her calm. Vet also recommends monstrous dental cleaning and reconstructive work on cat's broken and infected tooth. 24 hours later: cat is recovering nicely with the sweetest breath she's had in years (which could clear a room before) and WackyMummy wallet is $400 lighter. Consensus: WackyMummy is the worst cat mummy ever.

Crap we own that we're keeping: packed and shipped.

Crap we own that we're packing to take on the plane: packed and repacked and re-organized and laying all over the house waiting for the final countdown to get our butts (all three of them) to the plane.

Crap we own that we're trying to get rid of: um... help?

Days left until we haul our crap outta here: (crickets chirping)

Summary -- I still have to sell some stuff, give the rest away, reorganize the last of our stuff, and then clean our (old) house top to bottom. Before getting on the plane. To a house we do not yet own.

Please excuse me while my head explodes.

But...

But there's also this... this has been on my mind as we prepare to go... the friends we (finally) made and will be leaving behind. I can only speak for myself and (being all sentimental and stuff) have to say: the distance separates, but the love and friendship will stay with me and my boy, and we will remember.

Leaving Tony

In the beginning of this moving situation I'm already bogged down. I thought I was going to start out strong, and hoped I'd have some kind of momentum to carry me through, but it's harder getting started than I thought.

Especially when it seems our plans for the move change on a weekly basis. But that's another story for another day.

To take a break from the attempts at organizing and to get rid of old musty, bat-crap-covered (yes, you heard me) boxes from the attic, I thought a good old burning in the firepit was in order. Fun for Evan, and fresh air for the both of us. (Yes, we avoided the bat-shit smoke.) It was all a relaxing enjoyable time until I saw the stones marking Tony's final resting place.

It might be a silly thing, but Tony was my child before Evan. He was Chloe's "big brother", my snuggler, my companion, my comfort. He knew whenever I was sick and hovered like a worried mother. He was congenial company for all who knew him. He sat smugly and purred at those who quite obviously adored him. And there were many of those.

For the few who knew him who, after some time in his presence, would remark that Tony was frankly disconcerting to them and made them uncomfortable because the way he looked at them like he knew things. I swear he looked at me this way, too... and he did know things -- things I'll never know. He was an old soul, and possibly even a reincarnation of someone important. (And I don't even believe in reincarnation!) He was smarter than any cat I've ever met... and more stubborn.

There was a time when I berated Tony verbally, loudly, and at length for some indiscretion. I can't even remember what it was now. The following is completely true: I hurt his feelings. He refused to acknowledge me -- this, my companion, comforter, and baby -- for no less than two days, until after I sat down with him and apologized for what I said and for hurting his feelings. He gazed at me with what started out as disapproval and melted into understanding and forgiveness; that was the last of the silent treatment from him.

While he wasn't effusive in his attentions to Evan, it was his dignified companionship and tolerant personality that we adored.

He was accepting and affable, willing to put up with most situations.

For six years he was part of my family. And then he became sick. We didn't know with what -- my hands and finances were full with a baby and a progressive (although yet unrealized) fibromyalgia. I still feel guilty I didn't give him the attention he required. Whatever he had, he resembled an old man with dementia.

He forgot things. His personality changed. His agreeable tendencies quickly became irascibleness. But it came and went, so I let it go.

Until he got really bad. He was so bad I couldn't get anyone to take him, and I did the unthinkable. I took him to the vet, held his paw, and watched him go peacefully to sleep. In his final moments, he relaxed like he hadn't in months and just looked at me. His fading gaze held no condemnation for me, only understanding.

And so, standing by his stones in the backyard, realizing I'm leaving him for good, it hit me like a blast of icy air in my bones. For the first time since I started the leaving process I cried.

For Tony.