In January 2016 I found loving homes for two of the darling little girl kittens I had fostered, and one, I selfishly kept as my own. His name is Pinky. He has grown into a magnificent hulk of a cat.
Since 2016 was an El Nino year, there were many warnings from local weather forecasters that flooding would occur. Since I live near the levee of the Pajaro River, I learned how to be prepared. My car was packed and ready. My biggest concern was how could I get six cats into my car and drive away in enough time after being given the instructions to leave the area. As it turned out, even though there was a little flooding in the county, nothing terrible serious happened.
In March, Kats took me on a vacation to Sacramento. We rode the train to get there and spent the nights in a paddle wheel boat docked in the Sacramento River. We spent a day in Old Town, and another, enjoying the Railroad History Museum. Since three generations of my Grandpas were railroad men, I've got it in my blood. It was a thrilling vacation.
In June I was enthusiastic about taking free Spanish classes at my local library. I immersed myself for about a month, but then had a serious medical problem arise which kept me from attending. I'd been having cortisone injections in my spine and sacroiliac joint for years. But, this last year even after having the medically legal limit, I was still in pain and having trouble walking well. So I agreed to have something called Radio Frequency Ablation to the S.I. joint. It was a big mistake and I ended up in excruciating pain that lasted for the rest of the year until I had surgery in December. Three titanium rods were placed in my iliac bone and pushed through into my sacrum in order to hold the two bones together. I am still recovering from that procedure right now.
Warning: this part is sad cat news. I cannot remember now what month it occurred. I have a mental block. My precious black cat with the incredible yellow eyes, Ninja-Boo, sneaked out behind me at night when I went out of the catio door to pick some catnip. I thought all the cats were inside of the house and I had not noticed him still in the catio.
As soon as I realized he was out, I tried to catch him, but he seemed to want me to play chase and catch with him. I was up until 3 or 4 in the morning following him through the neighborhood. I finally dragged myself home exhausted. I could only hope that Ninja-Boo would find his way home. Kats was not with me that night otherwise I know he would have kept going.
The next day, Kats and I put up signs, and advertised, then searched the neighborhood for three days when a woman called to tell me she had seen a dead black cat on a nearby street corner. When I got there, it was gone. The local shelter had picked him up. I went there and saw him. He did not appear to have any serious injuries. It must have been quick. I hope. I said my goodbyes and went back to the car in tears. Good thing that Kats was driving. I would not have been able to. I still miss that clever, mischievous fellow. Picture is of Ninja and Timmy "kissing".
I'm proud to say that I was requested by San Francisco musician, Amy Obenski, to do some art for her new album, An Emptiness to Fill. Additionally, several of my drawings were selected for a coloring book she published. I also took up a new art hobby of painting cats on rocks, which I continue to enjoy creating. I have even sold a few to friends.
In October, my son flew me to Austin, Texas to attend my grand-niece's engagement party. It was wonderful to see her and her friends having such a good time, and to know that she has found her true love. Her mother, a tattoo artist, extraordinaire, was able to cover an old spider web tattoo I had gotten 30 years ago which looked ready to be retired. She covered it with a beautiful rose. Dare I call it a moon rose?
In 2017 I am looking forward to more of the good, bad, ugly and beautiful and.......
I just want to celebrate another day of living!
I just want to celebrate, another day of life.
I've been going through some old photo albums and sorting last night. Oh my! I've never seen that picture of my family. It had me giggling. That's the worst pic I have ever seen of us! But, so true to life! My Dad, the proud dad. My mom looking over us, and us kids all aimed in our own directions. Solidarity was not a commonality for us and this pic says it all.
This is doubly funny because I just wrote a piece on how united we are as a family! Maybe the table we were seated upon is representative of our joined strengths. It was hand-made cherry wood by Morris Evans, father of Mary Jessie Evans, our grandmother on my father's side..
This is what I wrote:
My family is descended from those who were on that first ship who came to this land for freedom's sake. The next generations shed their blood during the Revolutionary war, the war of 1812, the civil war, WWI, WWII, Korean War, Vietnam, Desert Storm. Today part of my family is descended from those who arrived here on slave ships and gained their freedom only recently.
The blood of my family is soaked into the soil. First, with those early arrivals on the Mayflower, the other Pilgrims to follow, the Revolutionaries, then those who arrived unwillingly and whose blood was shed in cruelty. As the generations have mingled, the blood of the first people who lived here for millennia, and the blood of legal and illegal "aliens" is part of the DNA of my descendants. And right now, the blood of one of my grandchildren is on the line in readiness to protect freedom and liberty in the army. We have all fought for our right to exist in the USA.
To me, the word United has a very deep, all encompassing meaning. When we are all partying and watching fireworks during independence day, I hope we can all remember what those "bombs bursting" in air were all about.
When I was a little girl, living on Cayuga Island in Niagara Falls, New York during the late 1940s and early 1950s I had a best friend. Her name was Denise Fairchild. I think she was maybe a year younger than me. Basically, we played with dollies. Denise had a little sister who was younger, named Barbara. I don't remember playing with her though she may have been nearby. It seemed at the time, she was too young to participate. When my family moved off the island about 1951, I missed my friend and didn't understand why I couldn't visit her. I never knew the youngest baby sister. I believe this picture was taken after we moved. Though my parents kept in touch with the Fairchild's for a while, I never saw the Denise and Barbara again. I always thought they were very pretty, and wished I had curls in my hair, too. I found this photo among my mother's belongings after she passed away in 2006. Imagine keeping it all these years, with no further contact.