Jenni, StoryofMyLifetheBlog.blogspot.com, spreads sunshine all over the Internet today. This is her request for our writing today, Tuesday, May 14, 2013.
“Ten things that make you really happy.”
Children, M1 & M2
Holding and hugging them, smacking them with kisses. One enjoys it, the other cringes and pulls away. I fault neither for their actions and respect the space that allows them the freedom to feel that they can be who they want in front of me. (Sometime’s I believe only a mother can understand this enigma.) I know that they both love me in their own way and my heart sings because of them.
M2′s proudest honor
Graduated, August 2012
Hannah, my priceless Lab. No greater hero, hath I. J and M1 rescued her while living and going to school in Stillwater, Oklahoma (Go Pokes!), but when J went to Egypt for the summer and M1 went off to intern in the west, I was asked if I could keep her until they reunited with her. (hehehehehehe.) I stole the dog! Changed the locks on the doors of this house. I did. Changed my phone number and officially secured an alias. My neighbors helped me devise and implement my plan.
Hannah Princess of Grace Hoberg (age 7)
Eventually, I spilled the beans. Gave in and let ‘em have the low-down on what really happened. Six words. They sound so simple, but they truly were/are complex: ”I fell in love with her.” The rest is history. :)
M1′s, & J’s Proudest Honor
Graduations, December 2006
Bridget-Renee Jones. Prissy. Fussy. Rescued from the backyard when her former owners drove away to Laredo and left her to forage for a new life. Brown and gray tabby, wears eyeliner better than any chick I know.
Bridget-Renee (age estimated between 9 to 11)
Rico-Chico, ‘The Man’, I am jealous of him. He also has crossed eyes, but his do him justice. Butterscotch tabby, white/orange and wears tail rings that are more stunning than any sight seen at a Paris runway show
Rico, (age 8)
Gilbert Grape. Black and white, tuxedo. Oh heavens, how can I put into words what this cat is to this household? I really can’t, each day is a new day for this fella. He rides the short bus and never fails to surprise us. I paid a $150.00 for him at the shelter. Now generally those folks don’t charge nearly that price, but they needed some reimbursement assistance. This little guy came with baggage. He’d had a broken leg, a nasty ear mite infection and must have bedded down at the flea-bag haven. He had also been in their care for about three months. Seems dragging a cast around can be a bit challenging. Yes, this guy needs a home, he appeared a bit clueless, but he also had a charm about him that REQUIRED that I have him. I needed to love him. I needed to be his mama. I needed him more than he needed me. Okay, I was in love. Smitten. First sight. Absolutely grabbed and gravitated. No turning back. No excuses. I LOVE YOU!. We do have to keep a close eye upon him. Burning candles are his fancy. (I’ve notified Dept. #3, five blocks from here, that he has this problem, so be ready.) One afternoon, while baking in the kitchen, I thought I smelled something peculiar. I checked the oven, the stove-top and then it hit me! Somethings burning outside this room. It reminded me of that smell of burning hair, back in my high school days, before hair straighteners were invented, where we resulted to using the iron, and ironing board to straighten (and sometimes scorch the dickens out of our tresses.) I rounded the corner to see Gilbert Grape investigating my burning Christmas candle. Well, how in the world a cat thinks he can warm his backside, SAFELY, while leveraging it above a burning flame is beyond me. Did this not hurt? Does he not have a sense of smell, much less a sense of pain? I went swiftly toward the t.v. console, grabbed the cat, patted the singe and blew out what remained of the pine scented votive. The underside of his tail had a frizz perm that lasted through the holiday season, and a bit beyond. (THANK YOU, GOD, for he was not injured. However, it took me days to recover, emotionally.)
Gilbert Grape (age 3)
We no longer light candles and leave them unattended. Fire Station #3, and hundreds of media outlets have tried to get this point across, but it took Gilbert Grape to set it aflame for us.
oh my goodness, I do believe that heaven must smell like this. I do. I really, really, do. I am in love with every note. Every beautiful detail.
That first cup of coffee in the morning, and the three additional cups, consecutively consumed.
It is screaming at me as I type, something like, “Hurry it up! We’re waiting.” … I’m replying back, “I’m coming, I’m coming AND, if you don’t hush, I’m sending in the British!”
The mockingbird family
that lives outside of my kitchen window, year after year. They come again, and again, to birth those babies and sing those tunes. This year they are not getting a wink of sleep. The squirrel population has exploded, due in part to the age of my oaks and their fruiting season(s). Hannah and the three cats have actually become friends with the birds. They guard the bay window area right outside of where the holly bush bassinet sits. Mother or father birdie sit upon the OSU flag pole and with reinforcements, there’s a steady bit of whooping, hollering, screeching and mayhem that ensues each time one of those squirrels scampers a bit too closely to the nursery.
old and new. Lost, and then found. You bring me joy that is boundless. Thank you. I love you. Even if I am unable to express it, it’s there and it has your name on it.
and all the history that we share. Yes, all was not pretty. I’m sure that most of it was downright, ugly, but we had each other. We had each others backs. We’d go to bat for one another, even if it meant something painful would be our reward. Sure, we bitch and scream, yank and bite. But we never stop loving one another. I’ll bet if you put all six of us in a room together (even without a cold beverage to soften the edges), well, I’ll bet we’d all stand there and crack jokes about each other, tease one another, we’d all try to get back into sync with one another. And, before we knew what had happened, we would be back to page one of our existence as a whole.
We don’t even have to talk to one another, separately or collectively, to understand any of this. It is written in blood and true for Life. It will never leave us, oh yeah, I’m sure that sad day will come when one of us departs this crazy world we have carved our way through, but even then, we will always still count the one gone as if he/she is still beside us. Nothing will wipe our slate clean. We own it. Have earned it. It is ours to claim. We will lay our lives down for it, just as we would lay ourselves down for one another. It is pure and it is promised. No love runs deeper, for this I am sure.
Admitting that I can be wrong
I am happy that it is okay to make mistakes, because without the error of my ways, I will not grow, prosper, or love as deeply as I can.
J, my son
He dares to go where others fear to tread, Mount Shasta, and another vista that has escaped this aging brain for the moment. Both bitterly cold and haunting. I once asked him if he would attempt a third challenge of the sort. He replied something like, “Don’t ask me that today. I am still thawing myself out.” … Oh, and then there was the night he slept hanging from the side of one of those massive rocks in Yosemite, tethered by ropes, dangling in a hammock. And least of all, let me not forget the joy of having him pilot me to Kelseyville, California, out of Sacramento, navigating a single-engine airplane that lost its audio transmission as we flew above the mountains and headed north. (Our mission, his wedding to my daughter.) He plays the guitar, writes music, and also plays the harmonica and piano. He’s an artist when it comes to wood-working, too. I love all of his accomplishments, but I have to admit that my greatest love is that he loves my daughter, openly and honestly. I pray that their journey through life keeps an even keel and if not, that the two of them can repair the wreckage, united in their love and respect for one another. I love them, they compliment each other in such sweet ways.
My header is a photo of my granddaughter
She is Miss Zulu. Adorable,and I am currently working on a plan to kidnap her. (Please keep this between you and me, okay? My neighbors are preparing for their part in the heist.)
P.S. The British have arrived, that garden simply did not know when to hush! (Surprise of all surprises! The Queen has GARDEN GLOVES!) :)