Memorial.

A friend of mine died unexpectedly from a car wreck.  I had been moping about it for a while.  Husband had actually known her and her husband longer than I had.  We went to her memorial, and I just watched for a little while.

This was a gal that was exuberant, and was happy.  She had had breast cancer, and so when she wore something to keep warm, as she'd lost her hair?

Jester caps!

A hat that looked like R2D2!

One that looked like she had a TARDIS on her head...

You get the idea.  In fact, at her memorial where she worked, (there was two, one for people from work, one for family and close friends), all of her hats were table toppers.

Bright colors were generally the norm, if she wasn't wearing something related to Doctor Who.  She and I would have discussions on that show, as well as Star Trek, and various books.  She kept chiding me to update, as I haven't seen much of any of them since the Doctor's 6th regeneration.  (Matt Smith seemed to be her favorite.  Didn't get a chance to ask what she thought of Jodie Whittaker.)  I knitted her a Tom Baker Doctor Who scarf.  We amused a few people at the Ren Faire, when we both were wearing them (I made myself one), at the same time.

Anywho, back to my observation.

I realized that she had friends all across the spectrum.  I have been to memorials where there are mostly older people, or younger people.  Mostly men that knew the deceased, or in one case, mostly knitters.

But her memorial, there were young folks, there were some older (I hesitate to say elderly, but they had seen several more winters than I have... Ahem.) Some that I know are conservative, others radically liberal, some who were neither.  Some that smoked and drank and partied, some that didn't.  She was friends with, and happy about all.

And it came through when we were together.

She had a unique habit of going to the liquor store to pick up something for a drink she was making, and she would pick up a bottle of something else, not because she was going to drink it, necessarily, but, it was a pretty color.  Or the label was neat.  The color of the booze was interesting...  So there was a long table of that, too.  He asked everyone to feel free to take that, as well.

I looked, but I don't drink.  Then I spotted it.  A green bottle shaped like a cat.  I double checked, yep, take it.  I did.

Someone, knowing I don't drink, asked what it was.  I had to read it to them, it seems to be some sort of wine.  I didn't take it for the contents, however.  Several folks did, and some were... very happy and relaxed, by the time they left.  (There was a check on who was the designated driver, too...)

There was a couple boxes sitting, and her Husband said that he'd like everyone to pick out a hat for themselves.  I looked at the hats.  One was a narrow jester hat with bells on.  I tried it on, and it was just a bit too tight, but I decided to keep it, as I remembered hearing her walk into camp more than once wearing it.  She always commented she could tell when I was walking into her camp, as I have a set of bells I wear, and she said they were distinctive, she could tell mine from all the other bell wearing types at faire. (Which is saying something at a Ren Faire, trust me!!!)  But the hat was uncomfortable.  So I took it off, and put my regular, wide brimmed hat back on.

Someone noticed her "horn top" hat.   I truly don't know what else to call it.  It's a round black cap, with a long black beaver tail flap behind, and the whole thing is covered in bright colored fabric horns.  It looks like someone skinned a prehistoric party animal!  I mentioned that I'd already taken a hat, and the daughter said no, it's fine, I bet it will fit you.  I "hmmmd" a bit, then stuck it on over my other hat.

It fit perfectly!  I remember my friend wearing that one a lot, it was one of her favorites.  And I thanked the daughter, and wore it the rest of the gathering.  Someone in the group mentioned that I looked a lot like her, wearing it.

I think my friend might have been looking down, cracking up at me.

At least I hope so... :)

Adieu, my friend.

(Blogger put this up early, and I couldn't get it back down... Sorry.)

Tuxedo wasn't feeling to great, so I let him in the house yesterday.  He slept most of the day.  Just didn't seem right, I guess I should have realized that, when he didn't park right in front of the fridge for a cheese treat. 

I let him sleep, and went about cleaning house.  Finally, he got up, and walked to the door, petting it like he does sometimes when he wants out.  I gave him a pet, and opened the door.  He wandered out, and I went back to cleaning house.  Told Husband that Tux wasn't quite up to snuff.  I figured he had a kitty cold or some such.

Not quite.  We lost him last night, Husband found him by the hay, he just collapsed.  He wasn't a youngster by any stretch, in fact, he was here when we moved in.  We saw him slipping in and out of the area.  Husband and I had Rudee chase him off, at first, as he was very aggressive to my other cats.  But slowly, my old guys went away, and Husband decided to see if we could make friends with Tux.

Husband used some very expensive Albacore Tuna to do this.  Tux liked him immediately.  Wife wasn't so happy about the situation.  But, slowly I worked with Tux, as well, and we were able to convince him that we were okay. 

I knew he'd made himself at home, when he started relaxing enough to play with Rudee.  By the end, he'd chase Rudee and swat his tail.  He took over the hen house, herding chickens out, when he wanted a spot to sit.  This worked until the day he fell asleep and the rooster bit his tail.  After a panicked cat rodeo, Tux decided that sleeping might not be the best idea IN the hen yard. 

I was truly worried about Buzz when I introduced him to Tux.  Would he accept this little kitten?  Use it for claw practice?  Ignore it? 

I set the tiny thing next to this big, black cat, and watched.  Tux gazed at the kitten.  The kitten gazed back, fluffing up a little.  Tux then slapped a paw over the kitten, knocking it over, and proceeded to groom it from nose to tail.  Buzz wasn't sure about this, but soon learned that Tux was her best buddy. 

Tux even wrote a few of my blogs, when "he" was in the mood.  He would follow Rudee and I up the hill when I walked, until I finally was able to get him to stop, (I was afraid he'd go up by himself, and be eaten by something). 

I will miss that well dressed cat. 

Raise a glass to a fine feline, my old Tuxedo.

***

Make.  What was the last thing you made?  What materials did you use?  Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it?  (Gretchen Rubin)

The last thing I made... and nearly finished, was right before Christmas.  Our family participates in Ren Faires.  Dad likes to carry a lot of items around at faire, and I had knit him a bag.  Well, you know the saying about 10 pounds of... Stuff... in a 5 pound bag?  That's where it was going with Dad.  When he had all of his keys in the bag, along with everything else, it looked like he had a porcupine strapped to his hip.  This not only looked strange, I was afraid he'd lose something, or the bag would give out.

So for Christmas, I spun natural colored wool, and knit a new, BIIIG bag.  I still have to put Velcro on it, and some buttons for decoration, (Velcro isn't period, I DON'T CARE, it works, and no one will see it on the INSIDE of the bag), and then Dad will be able to use it.  How large is it?

You could probably fit 3/4 of a loaf of French bread in it.  And a beer.  Or a whole loaf without the beer.  But I think Dad would like it better with the beer... 

As for something I would like to make, but need to make time for it.  Music, I suppose.  Perhaps my book.  But I also want to "make" room in my craft room.  The latter is probably more important, in the short run, that way I can practice guitar, and write, without bugging anyone.  And hide to practice without interruption, when certain members of the family show up... (grumble...)

So, as of tomorrow, set the timer.  Ding!

Uh. Well, guess I should DO something after I set the thing.  Funny how that works...

Rama.

Not the best picture, but it's a nice one, just after she'd been sheared.


She went down fast, and didn't make it. I would like to think she was happy here, and I know she was saved from llama burgers. I will have this year's fleece to remember her by.

She was a little diva. (Notice the picture of her, she's walking away? I had just started to take the picture, and she figured out someone had food, and she didn't.) She had "wry face", but it never seemed to slow her down. In fact, she was usually eating her share, then cleaning up anything anyone else left. (Which lead to four non adjoining feeding areas...) She would decide to go through a gate, and if there was food there, I wasn't going to get her back in, until the food was gone, or she saw food back where I wanted her. Big beautiful eyelashes, she could give a 'sultry vixen' look, an 'I didn't do it look' (even if she had), or an 'Ok, so I did it, I don't care' look. Sometimes within minutes of each other.

She was just a nice llama. She will be missed.

Zoom, zoom, zoom!

I have a moment. Breathe... Blog... Ahhhh. Ok...

I don't know why everything has decided to happen at once. I was out doing stuff the last few days. Dad and I worked on a bike race, making sure those who left, and those who returned were the same number. (Thank goodness, they were...)

Then, later that day, Husband and I went to a... Well, for lack of a better term, a Memorial Wake. The body wasn't present, but the spirit was. So were spirits, for that matter, everyone was commenting on the deceased's penchant for brewing, and sampling brews, and more sampling, and MOOORE sampling, etc..

It was kind of funny, because most of the folks there know my husband, but didn't know me all that well. So I sat around, sort of bored, until I asked the bartender for a Shirley Temple. (I know, how can I drink the hard stuff like that, but we do what we must...) Just incidentally, he put it in a cocktail glass. People started talking to me! Isn't that odd?

Then we went to visit my Mom's cousin on Sunday. They had visited New Zealand, oh, the pictures! WOOOW! I really hadn't ever thought much about New Zealand, and that made me want to see what it would take to go! (But I still want to go to Alaska, first.) We had dinner together, and I found a new knitting friend, so all is well in the W. Valley.

I am working on a baby layette-y thing, will post pics later, it's a sweater, hat and shoes set, I knit for the Navy Marine Corps Relief Society.

Went spinning, and have decided the spinning I am doing will not be for a shawl after all, it will be socks. Now I just have to wash and hang the yarn, so I will have it for said socks...

Kept the animals in water during the hot spell, it is amazing how fast we can all go through liquid when it's 90+. Especially when it was 60ish the day before. And now it's 60ish again. Mom Nature is having a nervous breakdown again... Or a hot flash. Or both...

I have some whatsits growing in the flower gardens. I am impatiently waiting to see what they are. They look like little green blobs right now. I have some that I do know, I planted Peacock Orchids (which is really strange, as it's NOT an orchid...), Daliahs, and Cosmos. Those, and in the front, I have a Hosta. I think I buried planted some phlox, too. Uh, there should be some Daylilies and... Er. Lily lillies? Anyway, I have a bunch of stuff in the ground, and the majority seem to have survived my ministrations on them. Oh, and some fir trees, a holly thingy, and I will be planting a Golden Chain tree or two. Am I a crazy plant woman, or what?

To that end, two funnies. A church sign. "May is God's apology for February." and a bumper sticker, "Another Gardener for Peas."

Peas to all...

Aww, crap...

I had been in the craft room, de-garbaging, (see, yes I am working on a resolution or two... Which ones, you ask? Sorry, not tellin', yet), and Husband encouraged me to come outside because it was gorgeously sunny. I had to admit, I agreed.

We walked outside, and the llamas were out in the front pasture. Husband asked if I was going to feed them. I told him perhaps a little hay, but they already had enough for the day. We walked up to Ding Dong, and she kept glancing at me, then Husband, as if she was expecting something. Husband then went over, softly calling to her, and reached a hand out, to let her sniff.

That's when she spat, and hit him absolutely squarely on the face.

Um. Well. That didn't go so well. Husband seemed more inclined to stay away from the fence after that.

I had asked Husband if he'd see Brutus. The cat hadn't come in for breakfast, and I hadn't seen him the night before. Being that you can HEAR him, before you can SEE him, and he will not miss a meal if he has to walk the length of the place for it, this is unusual. Husband said he hadn't, so I went looking.

Sadly, I found him, he'd died. He was a big kitty, so it took pretty good hiding place to get him more or less invisible. This didn't help getting him out. But, I was able to get him taken care of, and I buried him near the bamboo, on the other side, across from Jack Cat.

I was a bit down, and was commenting to husband that it was going to be lonely here with no kitties. Our youngest is 16, so geriatrical guessing, I don't think they will last a great while longer. And my husband has cat allergies.

He pipes up, and says, no, we'll get another couple barn cats, as long as I don't have to care for them, I haven't had any problems, and we need them for getting rid of mice.

Ah, Husband. Always pratical.

So, as Paul Harvey says, 'Stand by for NEWS!'

Eventually...

Jack 1991-2007

Jack was born in a tire. Well, more accurately, in a dog food bag IN a tire. Husband and I had heard mewling for a day or two, but couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Right about the time we found a handy dandy stray MAMA cat. Finally we watched, and she zipped up the tire, and into the bag. We were quite happy to have found them, as it had started raining, and the bag was filling with water.

Jack actually wasn't his first name. He loved to bite everything, and we dubbed him Jaws. But as he got a bit bigger, I decided that having someone chomp on me with teeth like sewing machine needles wasn't pleasant, I worked on the ancient art of nose thumping to get him to stop. Worked pretty well, didn't take him any time to learn. But then the name didn't fit.

We looked him over, and noticed, even though he was Siamese-y, he had rings on his tail, like his mom. We thought Stripes. But neither Husband nor I liked that... Then Husband said, isn't that the name of a movie? I laughed, and we both said in unison,

"THAT'S A FACT, JACK!"

And "Jack" stuck.

He loved to 'dance' with me, I would turn the music on, and hold him up and swing and sway, even dip, he loved it. Never bothered him. Any of my other cats, I would have had hamburger for arms, but I guess since he grew up with it, it was normal.

He was gone for a while, and I had almost given up on him for dead, when he showed up, dragging a leg behind him. He showed up at the door, for me to fix it. Some evil had shot him, and he had to have a leg removed. It took a while, but he was soon just as active with three legs as four. The only time he had problems was when he'd take a turn too sharp on the side missing a leg. He lean out and fall over. Other wise, except for a somewhat bouncy walk, you'd never know he'd been through anything.

He was a most excellent mouser. This was unnervingly brought to my attention when I went outside to check on a near riot going on outside. Looked around, about then, the noise stopped, and here comes Jack, mewing for me to look at his prize. A rat nearly the same size as he was, that he'd just killed.

He enjoyed when I was outside with a book, that meant lap time. I would usually sit on the bench, he would sit in my lap, and I would use him for a book support. He never seemed to mind. In fact, the only time he would mind, was when Brutus, (who is almost completely blind), would jump up and be nose to nose with him. Lap fights are not fun! And Jack ALWAYS considered it his 'territory', Brutus could just go away.

He became ill recently, and just faded quickly. He went from a robust mouser, to a furry skeleton that barely could make it from the barn to the house. But again, he came, looking for me to fix it. Last night I let him in, (I never do that, as Husband is allergic), and tried to work on Jack. He wouldn't take water, and I couldn't get him to stay warm. He didn't even act like he could see me, he'd only stop mewling when I would pet him, or scratch behind his ears. I stayed awake nearly the whole night, so I could make sure he could have the contact he seemed to be craving. He just kept getting cold, then finally, I couldn't warm him up anymore. About 6 in the morning, Jack left for his next life.

I'll miss those dances, Jack.