This is Small One.
We very nearly lost him a few Christmases ago due to a kidney infection that caused partial organ failure.
He’s sick again.
He’s not AS sick as he was last time – I think we may have caught it earlier – but I can tell he’s not well. He was vomiting earlier, and my Mother’s Intuition tells me that it wasn’t normal, hairball sort of vomiting. Plus, he’d taken to hiding out under the bed. He’s NEVER under the bed – he’s always front and center, where all the good lovin’ can be had.
I called the vet. At eleven o’clock at night. She heard his history, heard his symptoms, and told us to bring him in.
Not first thing tomorrow. Now.
Husband – kind, loving, insomniac Husband – is driving him to the clinic as I write this.
Could you clear a spot in your prayers for my kitten, please? I understand that he’s 14 and that cats don’t live forever, but I’m not ready to let him go yet.
I feel the need to recognize the passing of Coretta Scott King, yet I find I am quite without sufficient expression.
I am the beneficiary of so much of the work she and her husband did. I got to grow up in an era where racial violence didn’t touch my environment, where I could recognize and embrace my cousin (whose father was a strong, proud black man) and where I get to raise my children in the belief that we ARE all created equal.
I live in a very, VERY white part of the United States. All my neighbors are caucasian. With the exception of one or two kids of Asian descent, all my students are caucasian. I understand, in an intellectual way, that there is still much work to be done.
I honor those who began the process.
Isn’t that GORGEOUS!?
We finished putting up the wall cabinets last night. Isn’t it fabulous? Husband wants to take the corner cabinet off again and do something to the wall so that it sits more evenly, but the big point is that they’re all put together, they’re all up, and they all FIT!
We have to wait for the electrician to come and move the outlet that’s not quite behind the oven cabinet – that may not happen until next week. After that happens, if I understand the sequence right (which I’m not guaranteeing) base cabinets get assembled. The one that goes to the left of the oven cabinet has to be put together first, I gather, so that a wooden face plate can be screwed to it to box in the fridge. Once all the base cabinets are put together, we put together the island, then buy a stovetop and get someone in to measure for counters.
I’ll post more pictures by this weekend – things are humming right along now.
I have a lot to post – pictures, even – but no time to do it right now. Writing here is on my list of things to do when I get home from work this afternoon (along with laundry and some light grocery shoppping), so come back tonight and see if I managed…
I’ve been reading about, and have experienced first hand, the dangers of “blogging naked.” It’s been pointed out by numerous people who have suffered fates far worse than mine that allowing the zillions of potential readers out there to know your secret identity is baaaad. Verrrry baaaaad.
Still, I’m not good at the split personality thing.
I have two blogging identities – one for here and one for a blog I keep about work. I started out blogging completely naked – I mean, my name was on my profile and everything – until I realized how amazingly stupid and naive such wrecklessness was. On the advice of a much smarter blogger than me (thanks, Kizz!), I split the blogs apart and registered a new username for the work blog. Only a select few of my most trusted know of the work blog, and I’m trying to keep it that way. Burned once, shame on you – burned twice, shame on me.
A technical error on my part led someone to find my work blog, though, and to figure out who I really am. It’s not a fatal error – this person doesn’t actually KNOW me (and may I just say here how cool it is to have an unknown reader?) and even if he did, I get the feeling that he wouldn’t be the type to tattle on me. Still, I have to delete his comment connecting my blogs, and I hate having to delete readers’ comments.
So sorry, Vanx. Please continue to read (everything) and to comment, but understand that I must preserve the superhero identity. It’s nothing personal.
This is my grandmother. I had the good fortune to be adopted into her family when I was a teenager, and I’ve been grateful to the Universe for that ever since.
We went to see her today – I make it a point to see my grandparents once a week and to keep them prominant in my girls’ lives – and I watched as my children, who are six and eight, climbed into her lap. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her so content. The girls each had a book and were reading to themselves, and there Gramma sat, one child in each arm, with a glow about her that was almost holy.
I’m not sure there are words sufficient enough to describe the loving, generous soul that resides in this woman. She is kind, gracious, and quick to laugh, and I love her very, very much.
And I am lucky that she loves me.
Okay, so here’s the scene:
I’m sitting in an office, having an interview. We’re talking about the nuts and bolts of the job, my philosophy on this or that, then the interviewer turns to me and says “So, is this a change of career for you?”
Then it occurs to me – the people this man interviews for positions like the one I’m gunning for are likely about fifteen years younger than I am.
I made haste to explain that I’ve been busy over the last decade raising two children, and that there was nothing else I could do at the time that was more important than that. I’m hoping that my even tone and total belief in the truth of that statement worked in my favor. I’m also hoping that my “maturity” gives me some credibility here.
Still, it gave me pause. I’m 37, people. That’s not “old”. Though I may be a little late to the party, I haven’t missed the best parts yet.