Good Morning!
First of all I got a follow-up text from a girl at Cat's Cradle to see how Alley was doing in her new home. We texted back and forth a little. I told her that Alley wasn't responding at all to her name and she told me that they had named her there at Cat's Cradle. So I wondered about changing her name but I am so used to calling her Alley now (the boys said so, too) and she is just starting to respond to it...so I am keeping it but going to spell it Allie. :)
Makes me really believe now that some family member or the police dropped her and her companion off at the pound. It did say she used to live with another cat of about the same age. If that cat was sickly in any way...well, the pound doesn't keep them. If they were both healthy and bonded Cat's Cradle would have taken them both.
Reminds me of my dear, dear friend Ruby...when she died suddenly she had a small dog and 3 or 4 older cats...a couple that needed medication or shots every day. A friend volunteered to take the dog but her husband immediately dumped the cats at the pound. It broke my heart. You know what they do with old cats...let alone if they have medical issues. Ruby never had children and loved her critters so much. Every one she had ever loved--they were all in an urn of ashes she wanted buried with her. I wonder what he did with the urn. He immediately cleared the house of all her things.
I cannot ever forgive that man.
Anyways, Allie and I were truly meant to be together. I couldn't save Ruby's cats, but Cat's Cradle and I could save Allie...who was truly loved and cherished by someone and dumped off--nameless--at the pound...and lost her cat companion of likely many years, too.
She is already precious to me.
Even though one of her new favorite spots to sprawl...
...makes it impossible to use the remote--LOL!
This won't be a problem at McFamily's because they are going to mount the TV up on the wall with a swivel arm! :)
Since the best place to put the catbox will be in the maintenance room (along with my washer and dryer) and it would be nicer if I didn't have to have the door open all the time as furnaces are noisy all winter...Leah came up with the idea of making a cat door (nice finished hole with no flap) behind the toilet in the bathroom that Allie can use to go back and forth into the maintenance room to do her business. Isn't that just cool! She should like that. She likes to sit around behind doorways waiting for you to come out--not to jump out and scare you (like one of my cats loved to do that I had before Dagan was born) but just to hide on you. She often races ahead of me down the hall when I see her. I think she might love a sneaky way to get to her cat box--LOL! ;)
On Wednesday there was a Casino Night on the calendar. We even got a separate notice on every door to promote it.
As you know, I have been suspicious that they are up to something for a while now. The strange "inspection" where all they did was check all the appliances and the faucets...the form to fill out to let them know what size and layout of apartment we were in...and now this Casino Night. We have never ever had a Casino Night since this place opened...and they are using it for promotional reasons? They are up to something. The timing of knowing I will be leaving couldn't be better, eh? And that wasn't even any part of the decision. :)
I took pictures of the planters...
...which have gone wild...
...to save...
...for when I sell them in the spring.
I figure that would be the best time to sell them--very early in the spring--as soon as they are free of snow and can be easily hauled down a non-slippery sidewalk. There's really no place for them over at McFamily's.
Leah said we can try putting some pots in the big egress window wells. They even have a ledge inside of them. So I may have some flowers to look at over there if they can get enough sun. We will try it for sure.
Friday was infusion day. Fastest we have ever had. It was the no doctor visit day (every other infusion) and we got taken right to the infusion cubicle and not the room where they take blood! They drew my blood right from there and we could wait for the results right there instead of going back out to the waiting room. When the bloodwork came back okay--hooked me up and only took two hours total! The fastest it has been was 2 1/2 hours (the first no doctor visit). Usually it is about 3-4 hours. Nice!
Leah and I didn't wear our masks in the car and she came in afterwards--no masks. I decided not to wear my mask in the hallways here anymore this past week. Was so weird at first...well, it still feels weird. If the numbers go up again here I will be donning my mask again...but for right now I am only wearing it when I am at the clinic/hospital and if I went into a public place like a store or something. My numbers (bloodwork) have been good the past couple months, the covid numbers have been down here (they were up Sept-Feb), I'll be in a bigger bubble all the time fairly soon, all of us have been vaccinated except for Liam (and he'll be old enough soon), and the boys are home schooled. If any of us gets sick, if my numbers go down, or if the covid numbers go up--we can always go back to being more cautious with the masking and isolation.
That was a big part of the decision for me to move in with McFamily--my health and exposure. But it is kind of the same thing as when Dagan was little with his heart issues and being told to isolate him from other kids--people in general. I made the decision that it was more important he live a fuller life than just live longer. I was more concerned with his soul then his body, if that makes sense to you. Same for me, now. Not that I have ever been foolish about his health...or mine now. But I am choosing to live a fuller life that's good for my soul rather than worry about how long I live...and that's the God's truth.
For those of you who have never read Soft Breaths about making that decision with Dagan when he was about nine months old...here's the short story from my other blog. (I was going to just add a link but Blogger has eliminated all the paragraph breaks and won't let me edit anymore and I wanted it to be read with the breaks where they are supposed to be...even though I already see it is messing with the first paragraph on alignment--LOL!)
Soft Breaths
Dagan is napping. Being able to faintly hear his breathing even from the living room, I am once again grateful for this tiny apartment...our new home. Once I have cleaned and arranged and organized, I can make anywhere home. I’ve had practice, so I know this to be true.
Soft breaths.
I look out the living room window and squint from the sun. The grass is worn away to gray dirt littered with cigarette confetti on either side of the front steps. Unless I look down, I am level with the tree branches. I love looking into tree branches. The leaves are turning and the wind is winning the battle today.
Soon there will be frost on these windows and snow on the ground. But today...the beauty of it lifts my heart. I want to show Dagan the dried leaves and talk of what the earth does when it rests. But the doctors say to keep him in. They warn me to keep him out of the cold, keep him out of the heat, keep him away from other kids so he doesn’t catch anything, watch him so he doesn’t fall on his chest against the furniture when he learns to walk, watch his fluid intake, watch his salt intake...protect him, protect him...the unspoken battle to keep him alive as long as possible.
“The babies don’t usually die from the actual heart defects,” the doctors, the nurses, and the other “heart parents” have told me. “They usually die from complications: pneumonia, strep throat, bronchitis, or even catching the flu. It’s hard for them to fight things off.” I have heard about the “heart kids” with their various defects...dying in their sleep, cardiac failure on the school bus, pacemaker leads breaking inside their chests, dying during surgery, dying after surgery in the hospital...dying, dying.
Soft breaths.
I watch the leaves whipping off the branches and dancing across the brown grass. Dying. Too much focus on dying.
Dagan was three months old when they told me he was dying and there was nothing they could do for him. I forced myself not to dwell on it because that was something private between Dagan and God. I concentrated on his life while he was here. I would not let family, myself included, into the neo-natal unit if they were upset...sad, crying, or shaking. I did not want him to absorb our fear. I felt blessed by every day he stayed. I smiled and laughed and sang to him because being sad was an insult to Dagan. It would have been like mourning him before he left.
The nurses explained every procedure, medication, and piece of equipment. They even let me watch him alone sometimes. I knew how to read all the monitors, how to check his leads, and even how to slap the soles of little Janie’s feet in the next bed to start her heart when she flat-lined. I’ve always been good in crisis situations. I’ve had practice, so I know this to be true.
But there were times when sadness would well up and grab me by the throat...suddenly without warning. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t talk. I would just wave, turn my face from them, and they knew I was leaving to find one of my solitary spots...to cry. I am a private crier. I’ve had practice, so I know this to be true.
This was just selfish crying, anyway, and it made me ashamed. I couldn’t eliminate the primal mother, born with Dagan, who lamented “please, don’t take my baby!”...even though I whispered to him in the night underneath the beeping of machines, “don’t stay for anybody else, Dagan...don’t stay for me...stay only if you want to...it’s okay if you want to leave.”
One afternoon Dagan’s cardiologist wanted to see me in his office across the street. He looked me in the eyes, something he hadn’t done much of since he told us there was nothing they could do for Dagan. “He’s dying. You know that?”
“Yes, I know.”
It was so obvious I wondered why he thought I didn’t know. I had been there watching Dagan die for an entire week. He had gone into a cycle the past twenty-four hours of rallying and fading to near lifelessness. His skin had a blue-grey color that chilled me.
The doctor presented a desperate thirteenth hour plan. “If you decide to go ahead with this surgery your son will most likely die on the table. If you don’t have the surgery, you won’t put him through any of this and he may be with you for maybe a day to maybe a week on the outside. He’s not in any pain and he could go peacefully.”
“If there is a chance, I have to give it to him.”
The doctor sighed deeply...and the race was on. Emergency evening surgery. Dagan was pulled off all the machines except his IV. I was finally allowed to hold him for the first time since I carried him into the hospital. As they laid him in my arms I was smiling and crying...my joy could not be contained. I had my baby in my arms. The glistening eyes of nurses said good-bye. I would not say good-bye. I kissed his damp forehead and told him I would see him later.
And I did.
Soft breaths.
I pace the living room.
Dagan looked so pink after the surgery! Before he went home a week later his cardiologist warned me that Dagan would probably be back in the hospital within a week or maybe a month. He reminded me that all but one of the children born with Dagan’s particular series of defects were dead and had died before the age of two. Most never made it to their first birthday. I threw up in the bathroom while Dagan was getting his stitches out and then took him home.
Soft breaths.
He will be a year old in November, God willing. God willing.
Where had my faith gone?
How had each day turned into rising panic instead of a celebration of gratitude? I played with him, read him stories, and laughed with him, but there was a constant underlying fear...the long list of potential harms. I had recently joined an organization at Children’s Hospital called “Parents For Heart.” I met fearful parents and the heart kids who were either throwing quickly appeased temper tantrums or clinging with huge frightened eyes to their mother’s legs. Dagan was a happy child...inquisitive, trusting, intelligent...and sick every few weeks. But he was, also, growing up in the typical unnatural bubble and I was becoming more afraid with each illness. Dagan was beginning to back away from new things and people. He was cranky more often. I was quieter and more nervous. I could see our future.
Soft breaths.
I pick up Mr. Sock-Man from under the coffee table and his legs and arms flop against my knee as I pace.
Back when Dagan lay dying in the hospital, I was concerned with how he lived his days, not how many days he lived. I didn’t listen to them... I didn’t listen to them. I had been at peace with the situation. His life is a personal thing...between him and God. We all live on borrowed time. I want him to live well while he is here. Better a shorter life that is as normal and happy as possible, than a longer life filled with fear and isolation. God willing.
Rustling of the sheets. Small creak of the crib as he shifted to his knees. Dagan is awake. He is listening. In a minute he will give a small cry if I don’t greet him from his nap. I smile to myself...just to know him. I greet his smiling face and change his wet bottom. God forgive me if I’m wrong...I bundle him up and put him in the stroller. Dagan bubbles with those chortly baby laughs in anticipation as we set off in the cold, sunny, wind to catch leaves and talk to kids at the park and discuss how the earth rests under the snow.
If I live less time...it will have been better time...fuller time...days filled with wonderful memories...irreplaceable days. Like the Beatles said--All you need is love. (You're welcome for the ear worm.)
Anyways, after the infusion Leah came in and made birthday invitations for Liam's big day Sept 3rd. She watered my inside plants for me (didn't want to climb the stool after falling on that knee that was bothering me) and dumped 40# of kitty litter into the bin, too. But mostly we couldn't stop talking and bouncing ideas off each other for how to set up my downstairs apartment and how it will be and what we have to do.
We have both been searching through IKEA all week. (I've searched several other companies online but keep coming back to IKEA.) Leah got the big tape measure down from in the pantry and we plotted and planned the best we could with approximate measurements from a basement floor plan from when they had the house built. We've decided to put in a big closet in the "bedroom". Since I will be using it as a studio and will have no problem filling it with art and craft supplies, I still would rather have wardrobes for my actual clothes...in the living room.
I plan to try to divide all the writing, letter, and calligraphy supplies into the living room--plus my clothes--and have the studio be all the art & craft supplies. So, my priority is storage--storage--storage. It is going to be smaller than what I have now. There will be three rooms: bathroom, studio/bedroom, and one big room for the living room and kitchenette & table. I'll get some shelves in the garage I can store some stuff and Leah has a couple shelves upstairs in the school room I can store books I don't want to part with. I will have a washer and dryer in the mechanical room in the basement (plus a place in there for Allie's catbox).
I am getting rid of most of my old furniture...but keeping Grandpa's secretary desk, my big chair, my IKEA cabinets and tables, and my rolly chairs. Dagan and Leah think I should replace my many old, cheap bookcases with some better IKEA ones (still not expensive--they got some for the schoolroom and love them) that are sturdier and taller so have more storage room. Awesome!
I haven't slept in a bed for 4-5 years, as most of you know, so I don't need my old big heavy bedroom furniture anymore. I'll be selling the lot after 24 years.
The tall dresser. I'll have to find another place to store the really big art paper, won't I? LOL!
The triple dresser--where I keep the printer, printer paper, and my ink & pen cabinet.
The nightstand and the only dresser that actually has clothes in it--lol!
The rest of them have paper goods, pen stuff, card stuff, mailing stuff, and lots of odds & ends. Much purging and downsizing ahead! So I asked Leah to pick me up some moving boxes you can see above (the rest are in the garage) so I can start now since I am as slow as molasses in January these days.
And the sauna and this gate table will go, too.
The gate table isn't practical to use as an actual art table. Ian got a lot of use out of it on Gramma Days when it was in the living room. It was perfect for him--could flip up a side and it was out of the way, you know? But it is not good for getting chairs under it. So it will go. Every piece of furniture in my old bedroom will be gone. They'll be replaced by wardrobes and drawer units/dressers from IKEA. :)
I've been so excited that I can't shut my brain off and have had trouble sleeping--LOL! But for a good reason, at least. :) :) I wish I was in better shape but they know I'm not. Once Dagan and Leah get things more squared away over there (Leah has a garage and basement full of stuff from when her mom died that she has to go through and purge--doing the same--sell, donate, or toss) then they will come over every week and help me with mine. I wanted to start on the bedroom dressers, at least.
Leah volunteered to be in charge of selling stuff. She is on Facebook and has used their Marketplace before...so I don't have to deal with that part, anyways! Hurray!!
I am ready for a complete facelift of my surroundings. My tastes have changed in the past quarter century--LOL! My needs have changed, too. (Mostly due to the physical body changes--LOL!)
Anyways, you'll hear plenty enough about all of this over this next year...I'm just excited. Their friend who is going to help build came over and he predicts that it will take about six months from when they can start. He did his own basement and sounds like an optimistic fellow. ;) Leah already has appointments for estimates on plumbing and heating. Exciting!!
Meanwhile...I could hear Allie making these little crying noises.
We had a little visitor!
Another baby cottontail! This must be the fourth batch this summer!
Leah has my TV set up to rotate pictures we've taken. I noticed a photo of the planters when they were only about a month old compared to the ones I just took! Miss Allie was bathing but I don't think she will mind me flashing her photo about. She's a good natured little diva.
I watched The Last Movie Stars yesterday about Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward on HBOMax and it made me want to watch some old movies! Some I can rent the DVDs from Netflix but most of their old movies aren't available on any of my options. Sad, but true.
I'm watching S3 of McDonald & Dodds as it comes out and finished the Classic Father Brown--both on BritBox (which had issues on Thursday till midnight). Was in the mood for some true crime and watched Our Father and Murder Among the Mormons on Netflix streaming. (Always fascinated by how dreadfully people can treat each other!) Also started The Summerdahl Murders on Acorn TV--but it has subtitles (Danish?) so I can only watch a little at a time. There's always so much to watch...and I am grateful with my sore knee--LOL!
Well folks--that is it for this week. I know it was a lot. So much going on! I am going to relish my flowers this year and appreciate every visit to the critter cafe this winter. I hope whoever moves in here after I am gone will be another bird feeder person. We have several in the building here. I am not the only one. (Have to admit it will save me a lot of money, though--LOL!) Allie will miss the patio, too. But that's a long ways away. Will go quickly though.
I hope Blogger doesn't mess too much with my font and spacing and everything else it decides to change. I am too tired to go back anymore. Till next week, my friends...be happy and safe!
