Rilo Kiley - Silver Lining

I love music that defies definition. Country? Alternative? Who cares, she has a lovely voice. This video is not the interpretation I envisioned though.

Thank you

Thank you, my friends, for the words of kindness and support these past few days. It is obvious that I’m surrounded by many good and loving people, and I am blessed.

Having lost Kermit brought something to the forefront of my mind. While other people may sympathize, loss of any kind is truly personal. You feel like a foreigner in your own land; your world is a little off-kilter. Your routine becomes the enemy, reminding you of what you once had. You sense that people are vaguely uncomfortable around you; they needn’t be. You feel betrayed by the amount of time and energy you put into a thing -- and lost it anyway. In essence, loss makes you confront how you define yourself. After years of doing so much of one thing, it is hard to adjust to not doing that one thing. But adjust you must, and if Kermit taught me anything, it is resilience.

Kermit was with me essentially my entire adult life, which is something you don’t recover from quickly. He was a small creature, but as my sister Carol reminded me, love isn’t measured in pounds. But for years, our schedules were dictated by a demanding regimen of hydration and medications, which does not constitute a normal life. So you start searching for normal; folding laundry and changing light bulbs; and the stupidest things catch you. Your husband chops some onions and you remember how that irritated the cat’s eyes.

But I look around me, limbs and wits intact, and still feel rich in life’s most important ways. Thank you for reminding me.

Kermit Finn: June 1991 - June 2010

I’ve written this post many times in my head, but never knew when I would post it. After nineteen wonderful years, Kermit passed away today.

He was born to a feral cat in my back yard before I was married. I took him and his siblings in; he competed for attention for many years, though he outlasted them all.

He enjoyed a successful career as a Master Mouser, but retired when he learned he had kidney failure about six years ago. Not content to relax and enjoy his retirement, he took part-time employment doing security detail against intruders, with equal success, in our back yard on summer nights.

To look at his rather thick chart at the vet’s office, one could see he had the best vet team (Knapp Veterinary Hospital) in the world. He had better healthcare than my husband and I enjoy, we would joke. We applaud all of the doctors he saw there for contributing to his long and happy life.

We often had to board him during the holidays when we had to travel. He was something of a celebrity at the veterinary hospital, wooing male and female doctors and receptionists alike. The first time we dropped him off, Kermit was greeted warmly by all the vet techs. But we learned how talkative he could be when we picked him up days later. The young woman at the front desk would call into the loud speaker, “Kermit Finn for pick-up please.” with an urgency that suggested they’d heard enough of his stories. Once in the car, he would croak rather than meow, indicating that he’d exhausted his vocal chords.

But Kermit lowered the blood-pressure of everyone he met by simply walking into the room. He was my blogging buddy, sitting on my lap through every post. He used to wake me up every morning by gently pulling at my eyelids, which I will miss.

He was simply the sweetest cat ever, and we loved him.

I love to take pictures.

After finishing a class as challenging and involved as the one I just finished, I feel at a loss. No more assignments, no more critiques. I wonder, "where did all my photography friends go?" So, I decided to look back at some of my work and look for patterns in content. Here's what I love to take pictures of:

Things that grow out of stone walls

Water

Mushrooms, moss and lichens

Food

Flowers

Decay

Lost Things

I've decided to dedicate Friday's post to music every week, and failed this last Friday. I was so excited about a nice long weekend, I forgot. So please accept this belated gift. The video is as pleasant to look at as it is to listen to. My friend Leann (who has an impeccable ear and eye for all things amazing), gave me this CD, and if I had to choose one type of music I'd like to wake up to every day, it would be this. (Instead, I wake up to a rather annoying cell phone alarm which is a routine that must be ameliorated.) Happy Sunday eve!

Summertime, and the living is ...

I always consider Memorial Day the unofficial start to Summer. The days start to speed up, gathering momentum as they go, which makes it seem like the most fleeting of all the seasons to me.

I was discussing with a friend today how, on the days leading up to a long weekend, my energy levels tend to spike. I make a list. I make several lists. Of things I'd like to do, of things I should do. Should I repaint the dining room (it has been five years)? Should I bake bread? Should we take a road trip? Should I read Maugham's entire life's work? My head starts spinning.

When we were little, summer days stretched luxuriously before us. We had no cognitive grasp of mortality and this made us rather cavalier about how we spent our summer days. This knowledge can be a good thing; it gives our lives purpose and direction. It forces us to think about what kind of legacy we want to leave behind, but must it take away from our desire to seek adventure?

Maturity brings responsibilities that shape our choices, even how we spend our time. But I think I'll take my friend's advise and do a little bit of nothing ... what will you be doing?

Escape!

Once in a while, I've got to get out of town. Do you ever get that feeling? (I blame my father. When I was little, in the summer on any given Friday afternoon, he would come home and have my mom pack up the camper so we could live on roasted hot dogs and marshmallows for two or three days and we would get to tramp about the woods like wild children.) It doesn't have to be big; even a few hours will do. I need to go someplace where I can breathe more deeply and not worry about my list of things that need to get done.

So, on Sunday my husband took me to a place in Hocking County called Rock Stalls. The Indians used to bring their horses here for water and rest. If you don't mind using fallen trees to cross streams, or wading right through them, it's a beautiful place. Consider it therapy.

Happy birthday, Mom. I love you.

A Little Friday Night Music

Buggyworks

I was looking for interesting textures the other day and decided to go to the Buggyworks Building. This feels like cheating because the place is just rich with textures and interesting angles, and wow, is it different from back in the day when it was just a bunch of artists studios! Now it has sleek loft condominiums and office spaces to give it some legitimacy. Would I live there? Perhaps if they installed a coffee shop on the ground floor and I tired of gardening ...