July 3
Today, my mother died. A few hours ago, I asked my sister, "how are you?" and her answer was, "I don't know." I understand that.
July 4
I was a bit emotional for a couple of hours last night. It seems to me that no matter how one feels about a person who has been significant in our lives, it would be impossible not to feel anything at all when that person passes.
No matter what sort of mother we have, certainly she is a significant figure for us. Many of you have mothers who nurtured you, cheered you on, held you when it hurt and sang when all went well -- you have a different experience than I do. My mother was a narcissistic, alcoholic, abusive parent. She criticized me privately and publicly; she struck me or found other physical means of hurting; she told me often and clearly how ugly, stupid, completely incapable I was. She never stopped that -- when last we saw each other, she continued to tell me what a terrible, awful person I was, how evil and vicious (I caused her to have PTSD). So, a couple of years ago, I determined (with a lot of help from friends who saw it much more clearly than I did!) that visiting her was painful for us both, and that I would not continue it -- with the one caveat that if she actually asked to see me, I would go. She never did, and I had not seen her in over two years when she died.
She was not a good parent -- not by anyone's measure. Still, when I heard she had passed, I did stop to think that people are seldom all or nothing -- she had her own demons to struggle with, and did not have a happy life. Certainly, no one ever loved her enough. She was very insecure, and found her own worth only by tearing others down; she was perhaps the most judgmental individual I've ever known. She did have a much longer life than many, despite her many health issues. Perhaps it was her own stubborn attitude and a strong belief in her own immortality that kept her going, who knows? She was 89.5 yesterday. As I understand it, she was normal for her when the staff of her retirement home checked on her at noon -- but at 2 p.m. when the physical therapist arrived, she was non-responsive. So far as we know, she went quickly, peacefully. This has many blessings in it -- for her, of course, but also especially for my sister, who had the charge of the day-to-day care.
My mother was an excellent swimmer; she taught me to swim at a very early age. I may have been able to do this before I could walk, I am not sure. It is the one athletic thing I can do -- and it is serving me well now -- as swimming is something that the doctors, physical therapists, massage therapists, all agree is beneficial to me.
She loved music. I learned from her the love of music. In true narcissistic fashion, she signed me up for piano lessons, then screamed at me for doing "everything" wrong (as a contrast, I truly enjoyed hearing my children practice music -- mistakes and all!) -- of course, I gave up the lessons as soon as I was able. In high school, I wanted to take guitar lessons; she refused. I left home the summer before my senior year in high school, and one of the first things I did was to go back to music lessons. Now retired, I still study and play piano -- and voice, and banjo. My retirement life is rich because of the music that comes with me.
She loved art, and styled herself an artist. I learned to love art, and to cherish creativity. To my mother, being an artist and being creative meant only in the mediums she herself valued: oils, watercolor, etc. So she would say things like, "well, art skips a generation" -- meaning her own children had none of the art or creativity she valued. But I learned to see creativity all around me, I see it in my siblings, my own children and grandchildren -- and I value that.
I am sorry her life was so terribly miserable. I can see that she caused almost all of her own misery, but still -- I am sad that it was that way.
When I decided not to visit unless invited, many people told me I would regret this when she was gone. So of course the obvious question is -- do I? No. It was the right decision, saving us both misery and unhappiness. She could not love me, and although it took me a very long time, I eventually learned not to hope for that. Her life, for me, is a good example of many of the things I have learned on the road to recovery -- and a good lesson to me, too -- not the route I want to follow. I hope she rests in peace; her life was anything but.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Friday, August 20, 2010
They've Done It AGAIN
Warning: Soapbox blog!
Recently, someone I follow on Twitter tweeted the blog article linked above, saying it was an interesting comparison of online vs. F2F delivery. The blog is written by an Associate Prof at San Jose State U, and tells of her experiences in an online training vs training covering the same material but done f2f [face-to-face]. She determines that in order to meet their departmental needs, they will need to include more f2f training, because it is doing a better job than the online training.
NOT.
Not a comparison, or at least not a valid one. Two professionals have made the same mistake, again -- taking two different trainings/courses/lessons/whatever -- and thinking they are the same except for the delivery method. This means of course, that the delivery method must be responsible for any differences in learning. Sheesh. How long do we have to do this until folks pay attention to what really matters?
Now, both of these people [blogger and tweeter] are astute, educated people -- they should know better. But for some reason, people keep doing this over and over and over. If we go back to the earliest days of using any technology at all in learning, this same error pops up. So it's a common one, and I probably shouldn't be surprised.
Still, in reading the blog, look at the design differences the professor brings out:
What do we see? The f2f training gets folks involved, gets them engaged in various ways, makes them use the material in activities/exercises. Well, no wonder it seems useful, and she felt like she learned more, anyone would.
But all of that can also be done online -- and done well. Create equally well-designed courses, and the delivery mode will not make such a great difference. I hope that at some point, we learn to look at the instructional design, and not at zero on what seems obvious -- but isn't.
Done with the soapbox for now.
Recently, someone I follow on Twitter tweeted the blog article linked above, saying it was an interesting comparison of online vs. F2F delivery. The blog is written by an Associate Prof at San Jose State U, and tells of her experiences in an online training vs training covering the same material but done f2f [face-to-face]. She determines that in order to meet their departmental needs, they will need to include more f2f training, because it is doing a better job than the online training.
NOT.
Not a comparison, or at least not a valid one. Two professionals have made the same mistake, again -- taking two different trainings/courses/lessons/whatever -- and thinking they are the same except for the delivery method. This means of course, that the delivery method must be responsible for any differences in learning. Sheesh. How long do we have to do this until folks pay attention to what really matters?
Now, both of these people [blogger and tweeter] are astute, educated people -- they should know better. But for some reason, people keep doing this over and over and over. If we go back to the earliest days of using any technology at all in learning, this same error pops up. So it's a common one, and I probably shouldn't be surprised.
Still, in reading the blog, look at the design differences the professor brings out:
| Online Delivery | F2F Delivery |
|
|
What do we see? The f2f training gets folks involved, gets them engaged in various ways, makes them use the material in activities/exercises. Well, no wonder it seems useful, and she felt like she learned more, anyone would.
But all of that can also be done online -- and done well. Create equally well-designed courses, and the delivery mode will not make such a great difference. I hope that at some point, we learn to look at the instructional design, and not at zero on what seems obvious -- but isn't.
Done with the soapbox for now.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Fair Time!
So I've been to the Fair this week. Not the Fair where I live, but one about 45 minutes away (my daughter works this one). I suspect that County/District/State Fairs may be a dying tradition, but I love them. I love the sense of community and the close ties to the land they embody.
Monday I spent 5 hours judging the Agriculture crops -- mostly this was vegetable gardening, which was a good thing! I was not terribly confident of the actual agricultural crops -- two pint jars of oats, looking exactly the same, two identical bales of hay (and what kind of hay? I don't even know!), how to decide which is better? Ack!
However, when it came to the bulk of the entries -- the vegetables, I knew my stuff. I found that I judged from two perspectives -- a gardening perspective (healthy plant, signs of dehydration, etc.) and also a chef perspective (who in the world wants a zucchini the size of a small animal?). After all, this food is meant to eat -- and many times size is not an indicator of quality. Presentation counted with me, too. Many entries were dumped on a plate, but also quite a few had made an attempt to make the vegetable(s) look attractive -- in a basket with a cloth was popular. A mixed herb bouquet was beautiful to look at and had a wonderful mix of very healthy looking herbs -- special award there. Perfectly ripened tomatoes set carefully in a basket and decorated with smaller cherry tomatoes -- lovely presentation, another special award. Dehydrated, tough and woody-looking radishes on a paper plate -- umm, no sorry. Also the beets that had no beets (just tops) -- umm, nope.
This was fun, and I surprised myself with how much I myself have learned over the years -- which I could articulate and communicate to the folks entering. Came home exhausted, but feeling good about what I'd done.
Last night I went to the Market Auction. Yes, this is expensive meat -- but I don't mind, I can do this, and besides -- in our own lean years, many people bought the hogs my kids raised, which helped their bank accounts when we really needed that. So now it's my turn to give back.
The first auctioneer looked like he couldn't possibly be out of high school -- yet he had the aplomb and public confidence only years of experience can provide. His patter was smooth, his manner with the public was friendly but sure. Turns out he is the son of the regular auctioneer -- has probably been trying out auction patter since he learned to talk! It was fun to watch a young kid pick up this age-old tradition and do so well.
I was looking at rabbits this year, and another pig (still have lamb in the freezer from last year). But the first thing I ended up buying was a pen of cornish game hens. Two of the kids in the 4-H group had planned to raise hens, as did the rest of the group. Two days before the chicks arrived, these kids' mother collapsed and was rushed to the hospital -- she had to be transported to Grand Rapids where they discovered a brain tumor. So, the rest of the kids in the 4-H group decided they would raise the hens, then sell them and all the money would go back to the family.
Prices on these donation pens went higher than the other hens. The first pen was sold three times -- the first two buyers were businesses, and immediately said, "Sell them again!" I ended up with that first pen, on the third go-round. A community pulled together to help. This does one's soul good.
I also ended up the only bidder on the only pen of rabbits. I've always believed that 4-H kids (country kids in general) have no illusions about where their food comes from -- they know where these animal projects are headed. But I have to say, I did feel a bit badly telling this young lady I wanted her rabbits dressed. This was her first project, and she didn't know what the next steps were; her friends were there to help her show the rabbits, petting and cooing at them -- and truth to tell, they were cute. No doubt about it, pigs are not cute. She asked me if 'dressed' meant they would stay alive -- and I had to say no, that is not what it means. Sigh.
And this year's pig was "home-grown" -- evidently the current term for a farrow-to-finish pig. The young lady presented me with a thank you card and boxed gift -- I was expecting something like a knife set and BBQ sauce (like last year) -- but on arriving home, found a half-dozen huge homemade cinnamon rolls! All right!
So later this year we'll invite some guests and have a special dinner of cornish game hen in honor of a woman we've never met; we'll enjoy some rabbit fricassee or hassenpfeffer; and of course all year long there'll be good pork roasts and way better ham and bacon than you can find in the supermarket. And three 4-H kids get a bit more in their bank accounts.
Monday I spent 5 hours judging the Agriculture crops -- mostly this was vegetable gardening, which was a good thing! I was not terribly confident of the actual agricultural crops -- two pint jars of oats, looking exactly the same, two identical bales of hay (and what kind of hay? I don't even know!), how to decide which is better? Ack!
However, when it came to the bulk of the entries -- the vegetables, I knew my stuff. I found that I judged from two perspectives -- a gardening perspective (healthy plant, signs of dehydration, etc.) and also a chef perspective (who in the world wants a zucchini the size of a small animal?). After all, this food is meant to eat -- and many times size is not an indicator of quality. Presentation counted with me, too. Many entries were dumped on a plate, but also quite a few had made an attempt to make the vegetable(s) look attractive -- in a basket with a cloth was popular. A mixed herb bouquet was beautiful to look at and had a wonderful mix of very healthy looking herbs -- special award there. Perfectly ripened tomatoes set carefully in a basket and decorated with smaller cherry tomatoes -- lovely presentation, another special award. Dehydrated, tough and woody-looking radishes on a paper plate -- umm, no sorry. Also the beets that had no beets (just tops) -- umm, nope.
This was fun, and I surprised myself with how much I myself have learned over the years -- which I could articulate and communicate to the folks entering. Came home exhausted, but feeling good about what I'd done.
Last night I went to the Market Auction. Yes, this is expensive meat -- but I don't mind, I can do this, and besides -- in our own lean years, many people bought the hogs my kids raised, which helped their bank accounts when we really needed that. So now it's my turn to give back.
The first auctioneer looked like he couldn't possibly be out of high school -- yet he had the aplomb and public confidence only years of experience can provide. His patter was smooth, his manner with the public was friendly but sure. Turns out he is the son of the regular auctioneer -- has probably been trying out auction patter since he learned to talk! It was fun to watch a young kid pick up this age-old tradition and do so well.
I was looking at rabbits this year, and another pig (still have lamb in the freezer from last year). But the first thing I ended up buying was a pen of cornish game hens. Two of the kids in the 4-H group had planned to raise hens, as did the rest of the group. Two days before the chicks arrived, these kids' mother collapsed and was rushed to the hospital -- she had to be transported to Grand Rapids where they discovered a brain tumor. So, the rest of the kids in the 4-H group decided they would raise the hens, then sell them and all the money would go back to the family.
Prices on these donation pens went higher than the other hens. The first pen was sold three times -- the first two buyers were businesses, and immediately said, "Sell them again!" I ended up with that first pen, on the third go-round. A community pulled together to help. This does one's soul good.
I also ended up the only bidder on the only pen of rabbits. I've always believed that 4-H kids (country kids in general) have no illusions about where their food comes from -- they know where these animal projects are headed. But I have to say, I did feel a bit badly telling this young lady I wanted her rabbits dressed. This was her first project, and she didn't know what the next steps were; her friends were there to help her show the rabbits, petting and cooing at them -- and truth to tell, they were cute. No doubt about it, pigs are not cute. She asked me if 'dressed' meant they would stay alive -- and I had to say no, that is not what it means. Sigh.
And this year's pig was "home-grown" -- evidently the current term for a farrow-to-finish pig. The young lady presented me with a thank you card and boxed gift -- I was expecting something like a knife set and BBQ sauce (like last year) -- but on arriving home, found a half-dozen huge homemade cinnamon rolls! All right!
So later this year we'll invite some guests and have a special dinner of cornish game hen in honor of a woman we've never met; we'll enjoy some rabbit fricassee or hassenpfeffer; and of course all year long there'll be good pork roasts and way better ham and bacon than you can find in the supermarket. And three 4-H kids get a bit more in their bank accounts.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The next right thing
So today I had coffee with someone who really needed the time. I don't have the time. I have many things on my list today, and deadlines hanging over my head, people waiting. Still, I made this appointment and kept it.
This is not the first time I've met with someone new to recovery. And, given past experiences, I wonder at myself -- why did I initiate this? To date, not one person who has asked me to listen, to be a temporary sponsor, has held on. Not so many folks, to be sure, but also a discouraging track record. Yet today not only did I carve out this time, but I stopped to get a small notebook and a copy of Covington's book and workbook. I gave them all to her, with assignments even. I listened and shared my own experiences. I've known this person for about 72 hours, but I know her in ways only we can. "I feel so alone" she said, and I nodded. Then pointed out to her that no one -- absolutely no one -- was shocked at meetings when she shared something she felt humiliating. Been there. Suffered our own personal humiliations. Been ashamed, felt alone, believed we were not worthwhile nor that anyone could or would love us.
Dropped her off and she hugged me and said she felt such a great connection, "I love you" she said. She was going to start working on the books right away. We'll see, but in any case, I spent a couple hours of my time doing 'the next right thing'. This was the right thing, for me. It all felt right. Maybe she can stay sober this time, or not -- but what I did, was the right thing for me to do.
And there is a completed feeling inside me, not exactly satisfaction but something like. A sense that today, I was where I needed to be in the universe, and did what I needed to do. I can walk away with that.
This is not the first time I've met with someone new to recovery. And, given past experiences, I wonder at myself -- why did I initiate this? To date, not one person who has asked me to listen, to be a temporary sponsor, has held on. Not so many folks, to be sure, but also a discouraging track record. Yet today not only did I carve out this time, but I stopped to get a small notebook and a copy of Covington's book and workbook. I gave them all to her, with assignments even. I listened and shared my own experiences. I've known this person for about 72 hours, but I know her in ways only we can. "I feel so alone" she said, and I nodded. Then pointed out to her that no one -- absolutely no one -- was shocked at meetings when she shared something she felt humiliating. Been there. Suffered our own personal humiliations. Been ashamed, felt alone, believed we were not worthwhile nor that anyone could or would love us.
Dropped her off and she hugged me and said she felt such a great connection, "I love you" she said. She was going to start working on the books right away. We'll see, but in any case, I spent a couple hours of my time doing 'the next right thing'. This was the right thing, for me. It all felt right. Maybe she can stay sober this time, or not -- but what I did, was the right thing for me to do.
And there is a completed feeling inside me, not exactly satisfaction but something like. A sense that today, I was where I needed to be in the universe, and did what I needed to do. I can walk away with that.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Bad Students
So several of us are taking a 'course' to gain a certification, in an area we already know. It's just that piece of paper to say we know what we know, ya know?
Unfortunately, with our background and skills, we are more than a bit critical of the course we are taking, and are finding it frustrating. The directions aren't always clear - and we learn that when we're graded! 'Oh, surprise -- you got marked down for not reading my mind!' There are two purposes for the course -- one is for an audience who is trying to learn this course management system from scratch; the other is to earn this certification -- for which you already have to have some experience/expertise. We are the latter. As a matter of fact, we have more experience than the instructors do. I think maybe they are a bit overwhelmed by us.
Anyhow, the frustration level was high this morning. And, we decided I'd write the instructor suggesting maybe a change in the process. Whew. I'd forgotten how nervous this can make a person -- having to face an instructor from the student point-of-view. And this is a company I had hoped to work for on a contract basis after retiring! Yikes. Probably not likely now!
Anyhoo -- will wait to see what instructor says to our suggestions. I personally hate the 'read my mind' mindset. And, I don't like get graded down for something I am asked to have for one purpose, which not only mucks up the second purpose, but is confusing in the process!
Unfortunately, with our background and skills, we are more than a bit critical of the course we are taking, and are finding it frustrating. The directions aren't always clear - and we learn that when we're graded! 'Oh, surprise -- you got marked down for not reading my mind!' There are two purposes for the course -- one is for an audience who is trying to learn this course management system from scratch; the other is to earn this certification -- for which you already have to have some experience/expertise. We are the latter. As a matter of fact, we have more experience than the instructors do. I think maybe they are a bit overwhelmed by us.
Anyhow, the frustration level was high this morning. And, we decided I'd write the instructor suggesting maybe a change in the process. Whew. I'd forgotten how nervous this can make a person -- having to face an instructor from the student point-of-view. And this is a company I had hoped to work for on a contract basis after retiring! Yikes. Probably not likely now!
Anyhoo -- will wait to see what instructor says to our suggestions. I personally hate the 'read my mind' mindset. And, I don't like get graded down for something I am asked to have for one purpose, which not only mucks up the second purpose, but is confusing in the process!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Family Values
So -- I've been thinking a lot about family lately. This has been a winter of making connections.
My son has cancer. No matter the age of your child, it's tough to face the fact they could die. Intellectually, of course I know he will -- but I want it to be after I'm gone. To think of the world without this wonderful person now, while I'm still here, hurts in a way that is hard to explain. It's a deep ache, a bottomless fear.
Even so, there have been good things to come out of this. There is a very good chance he will recover in fact, so I have more optimism than fear most of the time. He has Stage III Hodgkin's lymphoma, and has responded extremely well to his first treatments.
Every weekend, I go into high gear cooking for at least one entire day. I make baby food for Zachary, just because that will help both Adam and Kristen save time and effort -- they need both right now to deal with Adam's illness. And, I make foods that appeal to Adam, comfort foods that he can keep in the fridge or freeze. Foods they can use for family meals or when Adam can only eat a little. Stews and soups. Today it's chicken fricassee (which I'll package with a dumpling mix) and clam chowder.
Last weekend we talked about how this past year might have gone if we'd lived 50 or 100 years ago. We don't think Kristen would have survived Zachary's birth or the complications that followed; we don't think Adam would survive either. But today they are thinking that soon Adam will have his teaching certificate, that they can look ahead to more children. I feel lucky, given a gift, blessed.
Another gift: Adam's illness has brought another family member back into the circle of my life: my brother. We have communicated very little for over 30 years, he is pretty much a stranger to me, to my children and husband. Yet, he wrote a moving note to Adam when he learned of his cancer; he told of his own bout with life-threatening illness. We have written back and forth a bit since then. It feels very good to me to be re-establishing this connection; I am excited.
Last summer my sister-in-law brought me a copy of a sampler survey to complete. I have a sampler which has been passed down in my family for some generations. I honestly didn't know how many, or exactly what the connections were. I kept the survey on my desk for a long time. Randomly doing some searches on Google the other day, I typed in what I thought the lady's married name probably was -- bingo! I found a complete genealogy book on the web on her family. The book, originally published in 1901, was digitized last year sometime -- I wouldn't have found it before then. Not only did I find Lucy, the sampler-maker, but all the succeeding generations, down to my grandmother (3 years old in 1901). I can fill it in from there. I was so excited to find Lucy -- with our cultural bent towards tracing everything through male lines, I was afraid I'd never find her.
Lucy stitched her sampler in 1818; she lived until 1901. Her obituary gave me a sense of the woman: Mrs. Lucy Bristol, better known as 'Grandma' of Southfield, died tuesday morning, February 19, 1901, aged 93 years, 3 months, and 19 days. Three years ago the 4th of December the good lady sustained a fall, breaking one of her hips, since which time she has been confined to the house. Two months ago she began to fail and the end came Tuesday last.
Saturday night she arose and while trying to make the fire burn a little more briskly, her clothin caught fire and she was badly burned. this no doubt hastened her death. Her son, W.A. Bristol was also severely burned in putting out the flames. Mrs. Bristol had been a redident of Southfield for many years and had witnessed many changes in this part of the state. [excerpt from The Birmingham Eccentric, Feb. 22, 1901.]
They don't write them like that anymore! I feel as though I've touched the spirit of someone who went before me.
Family -- present, past, future -- our connections to each other, to the world; I can imagine a huge web criss-crossing the country, the globe, beaded with sparkling lives -- and I am one small bead here in northern Michigan.
My son has cancer. No matter the age of your child, it's tough to face the fact they could die. Intellectually, of course I know he will -- but I want it to be after I'm gone. To think of the world without this wonderful person now, while I'm still here, hurts in a way that is hard to explain. It's a deep ache, a bottomless fear.
Even so, there have been good things to come out of this. There is a very good chance he will recover in fact, so I have more optimism than fear most of the time. He has Stage III Hodgkin's lymphoma, and has responded extremely well to his first treatments.
Every weekend, I go into high gear cooking for at least one entire day. I make baby food for Zachary, just because that will help both Adam and Kristen save time and effort -- they need both right now to deal with Adam's illness. And, I make foods that appeal to Adam, comfort foods that he can keep in the fridge or freeze. Foods they can use for family meals or when Adam can only eat a little. Stews and soups. Today it's chicken fricassee (which I'll package with a dumpling mix) and clam chowder.
Last weekend we talked about how this past year might have gone if we'd lived 50 or 100 years ago. We don't think Kristen would have survived Zachary's birth or the complications that followed; we don't think Adam would survive either. But today they are thinking that soon Adam will have his teaching certificate, that they can look ahead to more children. I feel lucky, given a gift, blessed.
Another gift: Adam's illness has brought another family member back into the circle of my life: my brother. We have communicated very little for over 30 years, he is pretty much a stranger to me, to my children and husband. Yet, he wrote a moving note to Adam when he learned of his cancer; he told of his own bout with life-threatening illness. We have written back and forth a bit since then. It feels very good to me to be re-establishing this connection; I am excited.
Last summer my sister-in-law brought me a copy of a sampler survey to complete. I have a sampler which has been passed down in my family for some generations. I honestly didn't know how many, or exactly what the connections were. I kept the survey on my desk for a long time. Randomly doing some searches on Google the other day, I typed in what I thought the lady's married name probably was -- bingo! I found a complete genealogy book on the web on her family. The book, originally published in 1901, was digitized last year sometime -- I wouldn't have found it before then. Not only did I find Lucy, the sampler-maker, but all the succeeding generations, down to my grandmother (3 years old in 1901). I can fill it in from there. I was so excited to find Lucy -- with our cultural bent towards tracing everything through male lines, I was afraid I'd never find her.
Lucy stitched her sampler in 1818; she lived until 1901. Her obituary gave me a sense of the woman: Mrs. Lucy Bristol, better known as 'Grandma' of Southfield, died tuesday morning, February 19, 1901, aged 93 years, 3 months, and 19 days. Three years ago the 4th of December the good lady sustained a fall, breaking one of her hips, since which time she has been confined to the house. Two months ago she began to fail and the end came Tuesday last.
Saturday night she arose and while trying to make the fire burn a little more briskly, her clothin caught fire and she was badly burned. this no doubt hastened her death. Her son, W.A. Bristol was also severely burned in putting out the flames. Mrs. Bristol had been a redident of Southfield for many years and had witnessed many changes in this part of the state. [excerpt from The Birmingham Eccentric, Feb. 22, 1901.]
They don't write them like that anymore! I feel as though I've touched the spirit of someone who went before me.
Family -- present, past, future -- our connections to each other, to the world; I can imagine a huge web criss-crossing the country, the globe, beaded with sparkling lives -- and I am one small bead here in northern Michigan.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Oskar's Teachings
About 4:00 this morning, as Oskar tried to snuggle under my chin while licking my face, my mind caught a whole list of 'things my cat taught me'. Oskar is about 7 lbs of energy and life, no waste; he fills our house and keeps both dh and I, as well as Tikka and Iris, all on our toes.
I know there are other lists about 'things I've learned from my cat/dog' -- but this is Oskar's take:
- When you are happy or content, make appreciative sounds.
- Sleep warm, preferably with company; be sure to sleep enough.
- Stretch a lot, any time of day.
- Play. Anything can be fun, even if it doesn't look like it at first.
- When you need attention, go for it. Butt your head into someone so they focus on you, or walk all over their hands. Rub wet sandpaper gently on their face.
- Have courage: go ahead and explore new places, even if they are dark. You never know what will be there; trust that you can make it.
- Move in slow motion when needed -- very slow motion. Trust your instincts to know when it is time to move with lightening speed.
I think he might have something there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)