I was sitting at my table, picking at the remains of what was to be a most enjoyable dinner, but turned out to be rather tasteless to all of my senses and without much nourishment for the mind and body, when she walked in. At first, I was too busy with what was on my plate...clumps of financial business, a bite or two of what was and no longer will be, a half-smear of fear, and an uneated bite of uncertainty...to pay much attention to her memory. I'd been rather pre-occupied with the non-productive activity of picking at the components of this pity dinner...pushing bits over to this side of my plate, then making tracks in these leftovers over here....occasionally putting my fork down, deciding that I was done with this meal and starting to get up, only to pick up my fork again, and meander through the leftovers of a paradoxal life....
...when in she walked.
I instantly recognized her, but couldn't believe that she still existed.
She was always small, but if that could be condensed into an even smaller size, then it was. She was haggared; her long, fluffy coat of black and white fur hung on her bones - 3 sizes too big. As beautiful as it was, even it couldn't conceal the wear and tear that almost 4 weeks gone had done to her. Even more spent were her eyes. One with its eternal weep, the other one, the good one, looking large, scared, and without any more reserve to draw upon. One touch to her body, and the story was told. On the run for 4 weeks. Whereabouts unknown. Given up for dead.
But there she stood. A bit unsteady. But upright, none the less.
Olivia was back home.
Where she had been during the past month, we have no idea. She obviously wasn't with someone, or she wouldn't be a bag of bones. How many hours, how many miles did those little feet wander? Where did she spend her nights? What sustained her during her journey? And even more curious, what protected her? At what point did her mind turn her back towards home?
Friday night was spent tending to this little creature of stubborness, reserve and strength. Food and fresh water were offered constantly around the clock as well as gentle hugs and whispered words of encouragement to a fragile soul. As I ran my hand down her back, each vertebrae bumping my fingers, looking into her weepy eyes, I couldn't help but admire her...her spirit and fortitude...the fact that she never gave up and yes, she had found her way home.
Perhaps fate had just taught me a lesson in the guise of a 3 pound cat.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
I haven't posted lately... mostly because what I would like to type would be rather depressing, I suppose. I've been in a slump since court. Worried about things... things that have to do with M and I. Money. The future. How things will work out.
I've also found myself being ticked. Ticked at what was not said. Ticked at the situation that I'm in. Ticked that the whole weight of parenthood and life are on my shoulders. They ache. They are tired of holding everything up. Tired of fighting to rectify lost payments, fraudulent charges attempted to be made, paperwork, calls to return, accounts to balance and repairs to be made.
We are starting my most favorite time of year and I am, once again, having a hard time getting into the season. Fall is my most beloved time... I love the colors, the weather, the anticipation of the year slowing down and the holidays coming. Cooking with my favorite Le Crueset dutch oven, trying out yummy recipes, decorating my house for fall, scented candles, ... all of it.
But the last 4 falls have been awful ones. Manic episodes. My mom's death. More manic episodes. Each fall I vowed to enjoy it.
Each fall I prayed to get through it.
I find myself missing what my little girl's heart had dreamed of and planned on. Someone to help me out of the car when my hair is gray. Someone to take me to the movies. Someone to ask me how I was. Someone to take care of me.
That won't be.
I guess I am mouring what was to be, and never will.
I guess this is all part of the journey.
I just wish the fucking Fairy of Fate would quit dancing on my life and move on.
pondered by Carol Dunton at 6:18 PM
Saturday, September 02, 2006
Oh, what a night! A dear friend treated me and another dear friend to a night out...to a LYNYRD SKYNYRD concert! Oh yeaaaaaaaaaaah! The beautiful part of this whole event was the D, who so graciously bought our tickets, had never been to a L.S. concert before! Oh, sweet anticipation! S and I have been to see them twice... we love Lynyrd Skynyrd and try to see them every chance we get! It's been about 5 years since we last clinked beer bottles at one of their concerts. So D treated us to a wonderful dinner out and then we headed to the concert. Well, the most stunning part of the whole night was that we had FRONT ROW SEATS!!! Save for a few folding chairs set up right in front of the stage for radio station winners, we had FRONT ROW SEATS!!! With plenty of floor space at my feet, I 'got down' to kickin' up some southern rock music! It was absolutely THE BEST! OOOOOOOoh.... and notice the white guitar pick?? That was thrown to me by the guitarist....oh yeah, baby! In fact, D and S and I ALL got one... that's what happens when you are in the FRONT ROW!! : ) And the tattoo... well, I just had to play the part...I mean..this is Lynyrd Skynyrd! So part of getting ready for the evening was applying a fake tattoo... And I have to tell you, I love it!! I'm sort of thinking that maybe I need to treat myself for my 50th birthday this year... I just need to make sure that I get it somewhere that it will still be in another 30 years. I don't want to be some 80 year old lady in a nursing home getting a sponge bath and my tattoo that was on my back is hanging down on my butt. One must consider these things when contemplating permanent markings. D and S...you two ladies 'rock'!
pondered by Carol Dunton at 7:00 PM