Caleigh O'Shea's Blog, page 3

Fighting the Bug

The doctor is often more to be feared than the disease. ~Proverb

I Monkey here.

As a rule, Mama is pretty healthy. She takes extra-good care of herself, doing all those things humans are supposed to do — eat right, get enough sleep, exercise, avoid crowds of people coughing.

So it’s a Big Deal when she finally takes sick.

Especially when I Monkey am by nature so needy and, shall we say, anxious for her full attention.

All the time.

Of course, I have reason to be, having re-developed “the itchies.”

Mama thought they were gone, after the expensive vaccination Dogtur gave me a while ago. My fur was even starting to regrow.

But when I started scratching and biting my hair again in early February, Mama hauled me to Dogtur for a consultation.

Dogtur gave Mama a special spray to rub on my balding spots, along with two-and-a-half pills for me to swallow. Every day for two weeks.

You should know that I Monkey don’t do pills.

Never have. Never will.

Nope.

When Mama kneels down beside me and starts sweet talking, I clamp my jaw shut tight and give her the side-eye.

Daring her to try forcing my mouth open and shoving a pill in.

Huh.

Humans aren’t nearly as clever as little Monkeys, though, and it didn’t take long for me to train Mama to give me blobs of peanut butter every day before dinner. Cool, huh?

She thinks the peanut-y odor hides a lot of things.

Like icky pills.

Whatever, Mama. Just keep that PB coming!

But I digress.

On Super Bowl Sunday, poor Mama was feeling puny with what she thought was a stomach bug. She told me a gazillion times she didn’t feel well and I shouldn’t aggravate her.

Who, me?

She never threw up. She never coughed. She never took any medicine or consulted her doctor. But she did spend an abnormal amount of time curled up on the sofa with a blanket tucked around her.

I know that because I Monkey refused to leave her side.

Just in case she did anything interesting.

Are you ready to play yet, Mama?

By the next day, she felt fine again, before relapsing the following day; and she kept “the crud” for several days more.

When it was all said and done, she practically tore the house apart, cleaning and sanitizing everything that didn’t move. Tossing stuff into the washer and dryer. Spraying Lysol everywhere.

Yuck.

But I Monkey haven’t quit watching her. Nope, that’s a given. She didn’t realize she was getting a “watch dog” when she got me, but I take my job seriously.

I mean, it’s not like there’s much else for a pup to do on these long, cold, gray days, right?

One Year Gone

He only half dies who leaves an image of himself in his children. ~ Carlo Goldoni, Italian playwright and librettist

Dear Mom,

It’s been a year now since you left this world and entered the next, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss you.

Oddly, I never expected to hurt this much … or this long. Being your caregiver weighed on me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I just knew I “wasn’t doing it right,” despite your reassurances that I was exactly what you needed.

Nor did I appreciate how hard it was to continue doing the things I wanted to do (running a business and playing in band) while doing the things I had to do (clean house, buy groceries, cook, handle finances).

The thing I’m sorriest over, though, was placing you in a nursing facility. You didn’t want to leave your home. I didn’t want you to go, but you had issues that would’ve overwhelmed an army of caregivers, and I had to think of what was best for you.

Forgive me for not coming to see you more often, and for not staying as long as you wanted me to. Those winter months were horrid, and everywhere we turned, another “old” person was taking sick and dying from the likes of flu, pneumonia, and COVID.

I couldn’t afford to get sick or infect you with anything contagious.

Then, too, you had so much trouble hearing me, and your hearing aids were practically worthless. If I raised my voice so you could hear, the staff flew into your room, assuming we were arguing. Remember how we solved that? I’d call you on your cell phone — right there in your room — and we could share a normal conversation. Inconvenient, I know, but whatever worked, right?

I know you missed going to Mass, but I’m glad I was able to bring you Communion and our priest to pray with and for you. I know you missed going to the store, checking for bargains, and preparing your own food. I’m glad I was able to bring you things I’d bought or cooked, as well as library books and magazines to read. I’m glad I did what I could to make your room more homey.

I know you missed seeing the Monk, but I’m glad I was able to bring him in to see you — and wasn’t it a wonder he behaved and seemed to know you were in a more fragile state than when you’d left?

And I know especially you missed the Domer, so I’m glad he continued calling you every week and came with me to see you whenever he was home. If it’s true that it takes a village to raise a child, then you can rest assured you had a hand in how well he turned out.

So, Mom, thank you for everything. For your understanding, your sacrifices, your guidance. For your time, your laughter, your love. I consider myself bountifully blessed to have had you as my mom!

Love,

Debbie

 

Is Spring Here Yet?

So before long we can open the windows wide and let Spring in, and we can go out to the park or sit on a hillside and let Spring into us. ~Hal Borland, American writer, journalist, and naturalist

Glued to this window

Waiting for Spring (or a cat!)

Enjoying sun’s warmth

Frequent Visitor

The robins were singing vespers in the high tree-tops, filling the golden air with their jubilant voices. ~L. M. Montgomery, Canadian author, Anne of the Island, 1915

An inquisitive
Bird sitting in a tree
Can sometimes seem
Dreamily calm
Even as it’s obviously
Fraught with tension
Giving an observer
Half a chance to wonder
If it is even thinking at all.
Just so, the bird and I are
Kindred spirits
Loving the outdoors
Making music at will
Noticing whatever moves
Oh, how wonderful it must be
Perhaps for a day or more
Quietly flitting from tree to tree
Round about the yard
Settling high in the branches
Taking notice and being noticed
Under the bright sunshine
Volume turned up
With eyes wide open
X-ray vision
You can’t help but admire
Zealous living.

Note: Poetry form is A-B-C Poem.

Nostalgic Birthday

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes. ~Gloria Naylor, African-American novelist

Today would have been my dad’s birthday.

He’s been gone 16 years now, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss him.

I don’t imagine we give enough credit to fathers for the role they play in a child’s life.

The lessons they impart, the examples they offer.

I remember one Sunday we were in church as a family. It was excruciatingly hot, and the building at that time had no air conditioning. Only standing fans that moved the stuffy air around.

Suddenly, I felt faint. The room started to spin and, even at my young age, I knew I had to get out of there … fast.

I stumbled across my family to the aisle, raced for the door, and gulped fresh air from the comfort of the outside staircase.

Just as suddenly, I looked up, and Daddy was there beside me, concern all over his face.

I explained what had happened and when he’d convinced himself that I really was okay, he escorted me back inside.

Teaching me that you don’t have to put up with a bad situation when a remedy is at hand. And that good parents can be counted on to suffer alongside their kids until the pain is gone.

Fast forward to high school. I was struggling to write a term paper — at the last minute — and worrying I’d have to pull an all-nighter to get it done.

Daddy came to my rescue, typing every page for me while I stood beside him and endured a scolding over not having taken the typing class he’d advised.

Teaching me not to wait until the final minute to get my work done … and that what’s worth doing is worth doing right.

Even after I reached adulthood, Daddy continued to teach me.

When he was diagnosed with cancer and was traveling to Texas from Illinois for treatments, he maintained a brave front until I asked him if he was scared.

“It’s a death sentence,” he admitted, without answering my question. “I just don’t want to leave my family.”

Teaching me that it’s perfectly normal to be afraid in a scary situation we can’t control … so we should derive comfort from the love of others and our faith.

Persistence, trust, and love … just three of the many lessons Daddy taught me, and I can’t help wishing he was still here to pass along his knowledge. I hope he realizes from Heaven, though, that I’m a most grateful daughter.

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Silent Sunday

What quaint seduction lurks within the snow. ~Frances M. Frost, American poet, novelist, and children’s writer

Thieves of Time

There is no thief worse than a bad book. ~Italian proverb

Is it me, or are others finding themselves abandoning books right and left these days?

Here it is, two weeks into the new year and already, I’ve tossed aside TWO books.

Maybe it’s my fault. After all, I didn’t check Goodreads reviews of either of these books before selecting them (and reading those reviews now merely confirms my opinion).

One — let’s call it Book A — was by an author I’ve read previously and enjoyed. It was a new genre to me (fantasy), so I stuck with it longer than I normally would.

Hoping my unfamiliarity would lessen and I’d grow to enjoy it.

That didn’t happen.

I put it aside before I reached the halfway mark … but then thumbed to the end so I could see if it might have been salvaged after all.

Nope.

There wasn’t much of a plot, and the female protagonist was so infuriating that I wanted to slap her silly. Additionally, I couldn’t decide (and neither, apparently, could she or the author) whether this woman was alive or dead.

Or floating in some mystic realm in between.

Gah!

The second book (Book B) also was by an author I’d read before. In all fairness, there have been some of her books that I wasn’t crazy about, but in general, I’ve found her to be a reliable storyteller.

Not this time.

This was a new book as of late 2024, but as soon as I finished reading the prologue, I abandoned it.

This author has been writing long enough to know you don’t dump a gazillion facts at your readers all at once. You kind of set the scene, introduce your characters and what they want, present some challenges, and ease them into your fictional world.

Uh-uh, not her.

I had so many facts and characters slammed at me that my head grew dizzy. I was yanked from one decade to another in the blink of an eye. And I decided that if I had to prepare a spreadsheet just to keep up, my time could be better spent elsewhere.

Checking Goodreads, I learned this was her third book in a series, but you’d be hard-pressed to know that from the cover. Nowhere did it indicate this was anything other than a standalone. No wonder I was confused.

Grrr!

So I ask you — do you regularly abandon books you can’t get into, and what is it that makes you do so? (just consider this my way of doing author research — thanks!)

Mama and the Snow

Man is said to want but little here below,
And I have an idea that what he wants littlest of is snow…
~Ogden Nash, American poet

I Monkey here.

Hoo-boy, is Mama mad!!

That’s why I’ve taken over her blog — she can’t be trusted not to spew out “bad words” and alienate you good readers!

Anyway, it all started when our area got seven (and counting) inches of snow. SEVEN!!

View out of our front door

That’s more big snows than we’ve had in ages — certainly in my lifetime.

So this morning, Mama bundled herself up in about a half-dozen layers of clothing, poised to tackle the shoveling job.

In temperatures in the teens.

Besides looking like the Abominable Snowman, she must be laboring under the misconception that she’s young.

I Monkey have heard the warnings: OLD people ought to keep their puny selves indoors and not venture outside shoveling. But here we are.

Tiny Tree is HUGE now

She did a few paths in the back yard just for me (all the while complaining that I’d pottied on her patio). Seriously, Mama, how do you expect me to potty when the snow is up to my chest?? And more to the point, would you????

Then when she was good and mad, she came back inside and retrieved another shovel, this time for the front yard.

It was really coming down (those black blobs are birds)

Well, in her effort to keep me from scooting out the front door, she kind of let it slam behind her.

Unknowingly, of course.

I Monkey saw her watch as a guy in a big pickup truck with a snow-blade attached to its front bumper cleared off the street in front of the house. And then he made a few passes over the driveway of one of our neighbors.

Without bothering to stop and ask Mama if she’d like her driveway done, too. Even though she’d have paid him.

Huh, what’s up with that??

Kind neighbor feeds the birds

Then, after she’d tired herself out, she tried to get back inside, but the door had stuck.

Uh-oh.

She made some requests for me to open it, but I Monkey hadn’t the foggiest idea what she wanted.

I mean, really. I’ve been taught to Sit and Stay, to Heel and Tuck, but never was I introduced to opening doors. Maybe that’s in the advanced class or something?

Generally, I Monkey have been taught to stay away from the front door unless I’m on a leash. Or the delivery guy is there.

Anyway, after yanking on the door a few times (and growing madder by the second!), Mama decided to tromp through the snow around the house and hope the back door would open.

I hoped so, too. I’d have hated watching Mama try to potty in all that snow!

Poor little gnome is nearly buried

Well, fortunately, she had her keys because that door was locked. And when she came in, I Monkey insisted on going out to examine what she’d accomplished.

Not bad, Mama, I said as I got ready to hike my leg ….

Not On My Patio! Mama screamed.

Well, gee, Mama, tell the neighbors, why don’t you?

After Christmas

When the gifts are unwrapped
And the bows put away;
When the holiday trimmings
Are gone for the day.

When the ham is devoured
And the pies are all gone;
When the company’s departed
At the first sign of dawn.

When the trash is left sitting
By the curb in its bin;
When the tree’s been dismantled
And all the snowmen.

Then a hush settles over
Your home and you, too;
So out with the old
And in with the new!

Today’s a new year
With a fresh, clean slate;
Opportunity beckons
To make your life great.

Try something new or
Perfect something old;
Smile a bit more,
Reach for the gold.

Lift up your heart
2025 is now here;
Resolve to keep Christmas
All of this year.

Happy Birthday, Monkey!

I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read, and all the friends I want to see. ~John Burroughs, American naturalist and nature essayist

Today is my birthday — I’m finally four!
Too late for Mama to show me the door!
I’ve barfed and I’ve pottied all over her floor,
But one thing’s for certain: I’m never a bore!

Today’s my birthday — it’s all about ME!
I’m just as happy as happy can be.
Cats and squirrels, you’d better all flee;
Guarding and chasing are fun for Monkey!

Today’s my birthday — let’s celebrate!
You bring yourselves; I’ll host the fete.
Cake, ice cream, cookies on a plate;
Only the best, nothing third-rate.

Today’s my birthday — oh, happy day!
I’m ready to party; I’m ready to bay.
I can’t promise anything but skies of gray;
Still, come to my party and be ready to play!

Note: Poetry form (I think) is quatrains. Could be rhyming couplets though.