01.20.09

I've been counting down to this day for a few years now.  Literally.  

When I started that countdown I didn't even know who would be running for President.  I certainly didn't know I'd be this happy and thankful for who would end up as number 44.  I'm pleased that the majority of Americans cast their vote for Obama.  And I hope others will soon be able to clearly see that he's not the foreign terrorist they thought he was, but a decent man, a fellow American, who is doing his part to bring as much change for the good of all people as he knows how.

He's not a savior, just a man, but a man that inspires, and hopefully, brings change.

Missing the good old days

Office dialogue:

"Did you turn the A/C down again?  It's freezing in here.  Can you hear my teeth chattering?"

"Are you kidding?  Do you see the bead of sweat on my forehead?"

-----

"Are you hiding the plans now?"

"No. I just put things away when I'm done with them."

"Oh."

and a little later:

"Did you see how nice that was just now?  The way I walked over and found what you needed, BECAUSE I PUT IT AWAY."

"I can't hear you."

-----

"Did you have time to get together those reports?"

"Yes, and I called the bank and they already picked them up."

"I am unworthy."

"I know."

Annie B.

It was just before summer, 1997, and I was spending a lot of time at my boyfriend's house.  One day a calico cat showed up on the property and much to every one's dislike: I fed her.  Naturally, she stuck around and eventually grew on everyone.  I even caught her in the house a time or two because they took pity on her (and secretly liked her).  A few weeks later the new cat had kittens.  Six of them!  Right there in the shed.  My boyfriend's parents were thrilled.  Sadly, days later, before the newborn kittens even had their eyes open, we found the cat dead by the cow barn.  One of the brother's girlfriends helped me take care of the kittens.  We fed them special milk out of tiny little kitty bottles and washed them with our finger in a washcloth to simulate the feeling of their mother's tongue, we played with them and cuddled with them all the live long day.  There were two all black kitties, two black with white markings and two calico girls - one long haired, one short.  When they were ready to break from the litter we had to find them new homes right away.  One stray cat was one thing, six were another.

I begged my mom to take one of the kitties.  We already had Stubby, but I convinced her he needed a friend.  She only wanted a calico.  The cutest by far was the long haired, but a little girl wanted her, so she took the short hair - which was really my favorite anyway, she was the most playful.  And so was the beginning of Little Orphan Annie.

  

We called her Annie B., Annie Bananie and Stinky.  She was the best!  She would purr and purr and purr so loudly.  She loved to be rubbed right under her little white chin and her spotted, leopard belly.  She had beautiful markings, especially the black lining around her eyes.  She was just the sweetest thing, which I always thought was because she had been handled so much since she was born and didn't grow up learning about hunting for food or defending herself.  She learned quick enough with Stubby around!  They were so cute together.  But unlike Stubby, Annie took everything in stride whether it be golden retrievers or moving and road trips.  Nothing phased her, she just kept on purring.

She was eleven years old when she died this morning.  She had been my comfort through divorce and moving and starting over more than once.  It was always wonderful to go home and see her.  I'm so thankful to have had the kitties with me this summer.  I miss them both so much, but I have an extra sadness today.  I love you, Annie.

Emergency twenty

I was probably ten or so.  My mom has her wallet out.  It's black and when you open it it flips up over the top and there are two rows of cards side-by-side.  In the pocket of the first one on the left there is a twenty dollar bill folded up and tucked behind her Costco card.  It's her "emergency twenty" and she tells me when I have money that I need to always keep a twenty dollar bill in my wallet just in case.  I still do it to this day.  I even fold it up just like she did and tuck it in a hidden spot in my wallet.  Tonight someone asked me for a twenty, and although I don't really carry cash, I had my secret stash thanks to my mama.

Ten-four

When I was little my dad had a huge shop in the way back of the property.  He'd spend hours and hours back there working on Beauty, his 1941 Willys coupe.  We had intercoms in the house and the shop, and occasionally my mom would tell me to call Daddy and let him know dinner was ready.  So I would and I remember he would always respond "ten-four."  I had no idea why he liked those numbers so much or what made him pick them every single time.  I just thought he was funny.  So then I would say back, "ten-six!" or "ten-eight!" and giggle like crazy.

Feline email exchanges

from: stubbyandannie@gmail.com

to: mom@gmail.com

date: Sat, Sep 20, 2008 at 12:46pm

subject: Where is "home" really?

Annie and I have talked, and we decided we'd like to stay here at Katie's awhile longer.  Annie loves the chicken here and is afraid she won't get the same home cooked meals in your kitchen.  I mean lets face it, you don't even like to cook for humans.  I don't want to live with those rambunctious, blonde beasts again.  And don't even get me started on traveling with them.  Why don't we say we'll stay at least through the end of the year.  That way you can get to Arizona and get settled and then we can talk about this again.  And besides, Katie really needs us here.  She'd be SO lonely without us, and we really like it here.  We enjoy being "city kitties" and all the attention she gives us.  Please consider...

Love you (but not the dogs),

Stubby-butthole

from: stubbyandannie@gmail.com

to: katie@gmail.com

date: Sat, Sep 20, 2008 at 12:51pm

subject: Please don't make us go!

Oh-so-lovely Katie,

We got word that we're being taken to Redmond, held captive for a couple of days, and then being taken on that dreadful trip back to Arizona.  Please don't let it happen just yet!  We want to spend more time here with you.  We love being here in the city!  Remember when we lived with you for a whole year before Mom & Dad moved?  That was the best!  And we want to stay with you for a while longer.  Please, please can we stay?

Love,

Stubby and Annie

from: katie@gmail.com

to: mom@gmail.com

date: Sat, Sep 20, 2008 at 12:56pm

subject: Fwd: Please don't make us go!

Look what I got from the kitties...

They must really want to stay to go through all the trouble of creating an email account without opposable thumbs.  How can you deny them?  And you know I really, really , REALLY want them to stay longer!  Plllllllllllease?  Pretty please with sugar on top!  I love Stubby and Annie SO much!

from: mom@gmail.com

to: katie@gmail.com

date: Sun, Sep 21, 2008 at 6:03am

subject: kitties

My darling Kathryn:

Valiant attempt, but not happening!

I miss them

I miss them.  I miss them more than anyone could possibly miss someone they met for only a day or two and couldn't even speak their language.  My heart longs for them.  I find myself staring at their pictures and smiling!

Little One

Your laugh is the sweetest,
and your toddle the cutest!

My little boyfriend sharer, whom I love

One of my favorite people on this planet is a dear friend who I've loved from the first time I met her four years ago. Andrea knows no shame, and watching her has taught me to risk a little more than I did before.

Today, like most days, we were chatting on the very non-ghetto Gmail (hi, kel!) and I was suddenly cussing up a storm. I do this when I get stressed out. Sometimes it's just therapeutic to throw the F word around, ya know?

Anyway, it just made me pause and think about how thankful I am to have a friend like her. A friend who will let me drop the F bomb when necessary and not hold it against me later. Someday I will forgiver her for that one time she talked out loud about hairball babies.

Why I love snapdragons and hate juniper trees

My cousin, Mike, and I would race to Grandpa's side when we'd hear his Zippo flip open. We knew he was lighting his pipe again and for whatever crazy ten year-old reasoning, we'd take turns blowing out the flame. Looking back, I have absolutely no idea why this was fun, but we sure got a kick out of it.

My grandpa was a neat old man. He always wore overalls. He always smelled like tobacco. He let me dig up potatoes, pick corn and pull up carrots. I would follow him when he made his watering rounds and ask him what each plant and flower was. I don't remember any of them except the snapdragons. I remember those because we'd pick the little black seeds and collect them in old glass jars. That man despised juniper trees; thought they were a nuisance. So I always have, too, by default, I guess.

He helped me build a wooden box once. Mike and I had this favorite tree in Grandma and Grandpa's backyard. It was huge and had the perfect limb to sit on and dangle our feet below. The limb was pretty high up and you definitely needed two hands to climb the tree, but we needed to have sodas while we were up there talking about life (we'd get parched with all that talking to do). So Grandpa came out to his workshop with me and we constructed a wooden box. It was just the right size for a couple of sodas. Then we tied a rope around it to pulley it up to our limb. I still have the wooden box. I keep art supplies in it, and I think of my grandpa every time I look at it, and remember that he was the one who always told me I could.

The one and only, Craigy

I remember when Craig and I use to stay up in the middle of the night and play legos until one of our parents would get up and notice the light peeking out from the bottom of our bedroom door and make us go to bed. I remember waking up on weekend mornings and building forts out of the couch cushions and blankets, then hiding out in the forts to watch tv and eat good ol' Cheerios until the parents woke up. I remember playing ping pong together for hours against the big shop door while Daddy worked on his car. I remember riding bikes together, playing hide-and-seek, running through the sprinklers, playing "school" and rollerskating on the front porch. I remember a stellar Miami Sound Machine concert we performed in the living room with a VCR recording and fake microphones. I remember his deep love for all things Ninja Turtle and that he loved puffy Cheetos with a passion. We use to eat cold hot dogs by peeling off the skin first. We mastered the art of a fine macaroni and cheese using Velveeta and just the right amount of milk. We played the Which End is Crispier® french fry game at Arctic Circle. We picked up soda cans at the dragstrip and turned them in for Slurpees at 7-11. We played Donkey Kong on Atari until we upgraded to Super Mario Bros. on Nintendo. I was always Mario, he was Luigi.

My brother is five years younger than me which worked out fine at first since I could boss him around, but the older I got the more and more of a hindrance the age gap became to our relationship. He drove me nuts. A lot! And by the time he was out of elementary school I was in my own little world of high school and boyfriends, and hardly a part of the family, let alone wanting anything to do with my pestery brother. I was out of the house by the time he was a teenager, married and moved across the country and had a life of my own. I wasn't there to watch his adolescence, but I know it wasn't pretty. Only over the last couple of years have we lived in the same state, but we've never been close again. Every single thing about our lives is different from the other's. I feel like he resents me and uses my parents. He feels like I only judge and condemn him.

What he doesn't know is that is not how I see him. He has been through a lot in his short life, albeit mostly self-inflicted, but a lot more than I could handle. He has had to face struggles and punishments I can't imagine. And yet, he still smiles. There have been times I've seen more strength and courage from him than anyone else. And I see hope in him. I see the opportunity for change and for good, even when he doesn't. He may be wounded, but I see the chance for healing.

I am sad that I haven't been a better sister to him. I'm disappointed that when I put forth a little effort to spend time with him I get frustrated too easily. I get discouraged and give up. I'm afraid that my disconnectedness is seen by him as a lack of love, instead of the stuff I need to work on in my own life. Mostly the memories I have of my brother are from when we were little, entertaining each other and playing together. Partially because I wasn't involved enough in his life past this stage, but partially because I think he lost who he was a long time ago and I don't have memories of who he has become.

But no matter what he's my only little brother, and I'm his only big sister. I love him so much and I would really miss him more than words could say if he were gone. I pray that will never happen.