Caleigh O'Shea's Blog, page 8

Cat-Watching

The dog may be wonderful prose, but only the cat is poetry. ~French proverb

Like a cat
I sometimes
Curl up in
A sunny
South-facing
window and
Nap or read
(Sometimes both!)

I find it
Soothes me and
Readies me
To face the
Remainder
Of my day.

How about
You? Are you
A window
Napper, too?
Or maybe
Only a
Cat-Watcher?

I Monkey Did It!!

I Monkey here.

Guess WHAT??? I did it!!

I successfully completed Puppy School!

Sadly, I didn’t get to keep the cute hat.

Remember how I told you I had two classmates, a Cocker Spaniel-mix and a cattle dog?

Both attended only the first two sessions before dropping out.

Mama asked Teacher if they were okay, but Teacher said she hadn’t heard from their moms.

Does it make sense to pay good money for school, then quit attending and lose all that money?

I think not.

Anyway, I Monkey won because I got private lessons for the price of class lessons! Mama loved that.

And school was great!

I got introduced to Wait (supposed to stop at crosswalks), Heel (supposed to walk right alongside Mama’s leg when I’m on the leash), Leave It (supposed to sniff only — or ignore — stuff that’s on the ground), Come (supposed to rush to Mama when she calls me), and Paw (supposed to shake hands).

I also got to do something called Puppy Push-ups, where they put me in a Sit, then had me lie down, then go back into a Sit before I could get my treat. You don’t think that’s hard? Just try it!

And Teacher and Mama picked out a special word just for me. It’s supposed to be used only in emergencies, like if I ever slipped out of my harness and ran off toward danger. When Mama says it, I’m supposed to know a major cookie explosion is on the way, so I’m to come running right back to her. Immediately.

I won’t tell you my word ‘cos it’s supposed to be a secret between me and Mama. She’s hoping she’ll never have to use it!

When my last class met, I thought Teacher was going to cry. She said she’s going to miss me bunches and urged Mama to sign me up for the next level class.

I think she should, too. I’m eager to learn (and make up for all the time I missed out on when I was so sick). And a structured class gives an anxious pup like me some stabilizing (which Mama says I need).

Besides, Puppy School means lots of treats and good things. Like at my last class, when Teacher gave me a diploma with my name on it. How cool is that?

She also gave me a puzzle toy as a present. She said brainiac pups like me need things to challenge us. This toy has a squeaky narwhal, starfish, and mermaid in a seashell-thing, and you have to work to get them out of their holes.

And I can do it! The first time Mama tried me at home, it took awhile for me to get the hang of it, but by the time my brofer (AKA Domer) came home, I was becoming a pro.

Here I am, checking it out:

Signing off now and heading for a snoozle. Love, Monkey the Glad Grad.

P.S. I wrote this before Gramma passed. I like to think of her in Heaven, cheering on my successes!

Looking for Signs

God pours life into death and death into life without a drop being spilled. ~Author unknown

As many of you now know, I lost my mom two weeks ago.

Her passing wasn’t totally unexpected because she had several medical conditions (any one of which could’ve killed her). Yet death is always unexpected, and we’re never ready for it.

Mom went suddenly. She was on Hospice less than a week.

But her death was relatively peaceful. And painless. She kept her mind and wits about her until the end, insisting that things be done her way as much as possible.

The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. ~Author unknown

The only thing she couldn’t control was her location. I’d had to place her in a care facility (because I just couldn’t manage her medical conditions, and she ran off all our help, preferring that I alone tend to her).

It wasn’t easy, but I think my presence gave Mom some measure of comfort.

And being with her during her final days gave me comfort as well.

When her nurse called with an update on Mom’s condition — noting that things looked pretty bleak — I contacted our parish priest, who administered the final sacraments. Both of us figured Mom would go peacefully after that, but it was three days later when she took her last breath.

During one of our final week visits, when Mom talked repeatedly about “going to see Jesus,” I asked her to send me a sign when she made it to her new Home.

It was a half-hearted request. I don’t know if the dead can send signs to the living, or if the living just look for “signs” to reassure themselves after a death. Nevertheless, I think her sign appeared early yesterday.

For years, you see, Mom and I had many laughs over the rash of bats we’d gotten in the house until we had a handyman seal up a hole under the eaves where we thought they might be roosting.

And it worked. We haven’t had one swoopy visitor in ages.

That changed on Wednesday. Monkey and I came inside after his potty break, and I was fixing his food when a BAT soared past my head!

I shrieked and ran for my butterfly net in the garage, Monk on my heals barking. Eventually, I found the thing resting on the stone surrounding the fireplace, clamped the net over him (or her), scooped him up and carried him back out.

Easy-peasy. You’d think I haven’t done this a dozen times by now!

Not that I believe people turn into animals after they die. Not that I’d ever think my mom was a bat (well, maybe my twenty-year-old self might’ve thought that a time or two).

But still, it makes me wonder. Was that the sign I was asking for?

Gee, Mom, I’d have preferred a butterfly.

Taking a Break

I Monkey here.

Mama can’t post right now; in fact, she’s going to be offline for a while, and I’m closing comments because I Monkey have to help her.

You see, Grandma passed away. While it wasn’t unexpected, it’s still a time for mourning and healing.

Thank you for understanding. We love y’all!

Watch Those Flaps!

The pen in your hand is a magic wand with which you can send joy, hope, love and courage across deserts and plains, over mountains and seas, around the world and around the corner. ~Wilferd A. Peterson, American author

We all grumble about the postal service and sometimes, with good cause: reduced window operations, increased regulations, jacked-up prices.

So let me add another complaint to the pile — S-L-O-W delivery.

Recently, I sent my childhood friend a birthday card and letter in a small manila envelope. I sealed it with clear tape and stopped by the P.O. counter to make sure I had sufficient postage on it.

I mailed it about two weeks before her November birthday, thinking that surely was enough time for its timely arrival.

It wasn’t.

In her Christmas letter to me, she pointed out (nicely, of course) that my letter finally arrived an entire week after her birthday, causing her to fear something was wrong in my world because my correspondence is never late.

So when I mailed my Christmas letter to her — again sealed the way I’d done the birthday letter — I asked the P.O. clerk what had gone wrong.

Turns out, the problem likely was caused by somebody else failing to completely seal an envelope they’d mailed.

How can that be? I asked.

The clerk said their mail sorting machines are so fast that sometimes, one piece of mail gets hung up on a partially-sealed flap of another piece. And that delays both of them.

She added, We don’t have time to go behind people and reseal their letters.

Huh.

That’s not exactly a comforting thought. Nor do I find it a very acceptable explanation.

Still, if that’s the way things are, I can certainly refuse to add to the problem. So from now on, I’m careful to completely seal everything I mail, whether it be cards or letters.

I don’t want to be the cause of delaying somebody’s mail!

Mute Monday

When it snows, you have two choices: shovel or make snow angels. ~Author unknown

Hibernation: An Art

Winter is a time of promise because there is so little to do — or because you can now and then permit yourself the luxury of thinking so. ~Stanley Crawford, American writer and farmer

‘Tis the season for us to hibernate,
Hole up indoors and try to acclimate
While the snows outside start to accumulate
And the frigid temperatures rush to accelerate.

The wise prepare for this transition to incubate:
They gather food when the weather is adequate,
Gas for the car and wood for the grate;
Books, movies, puzzles while they isolate.

This season of quiet gives us time to cogitate
The meaning of Life and how we might mitigate
The miseries others face and extrapolate
Things we can do to make peace proliferate.

Of course, none of us can ever anticipate,
Nor can anyone fully appreciate
How long, how dreary this time we tolerate.
Ideas germinate, but we procrastinate.

We mean to get things done, but wait!
A nap is calling, so we vacillate.
Clean closets, tax prep, and such might motivate.
Maybe tomorrow. Today we vegetate!

Note: This is some sort of rhyming verse, I think.

Crud and Mud

Winter’s here, and you feel lousy: You’re coughing and sneezing; your muscles ache; your nose is an active mucus volcano. These symptoms — so familiar at this time of year — can mean only one thing: Tiny fanged snails are eating your brain. ~ Dave Barry, American author and columnist

When I wrote my last post, I truly intended to take only a few days off, then get right back to work.

It didn’t happen that way, and I apologize. Some things can’t be helped.

Like crud and mud.

My son Domer came home a few days before Christmas, bringing the “galloping crud” along with him.

Some early gift, huh?

I used to average a winter cold annually, right around Thanksgiving. Often, it went to laryngitis or a sinus infection.

But since the COVID Pandemic, my immune system seems to have become more robust, and I’ve managed to avoid that misery.

Vaccinations, sensible health habits, and staying away from crowds are a powerful antidote.

Domer has been pretty much the same.

But this year, I guess we were ripe for the crud. He had one good day (the day he arrived) before succumbing to it — and I followed suit five days later.

The coughing, sore throat, chills, runny nose, stuffy nose, and general malaise made for a less-than-enjoyable holiday. We masked up to attend church services, managed to cook some decent healthy meals, and opened our presents surrounded by tissues and sanitizing wipes.

As soon as he left to go back to work, the other bane of this season struck: Mud.

Here in Central Illinois, we usually expect to see snow by this time of year, but guess what?

The ground is bare. Except for lots of mud.

We’ve had rain and this “perma-cloud” thing that’s hovered overhead for weeks on end, meaning poor Monk can’t go outside without bringing the outdoors in.

Sick as I’ve been, I’ve found myself bending double to wash and dry his filthy feet — and then dragging out the Swiffer to clean the floors from what I invariably overlooked.

Snow might be wet, but at least it’s a clean wet.

If I wanted to live with mud, I’d buy a nice working farm … somewhere down South, where at least it’s warm!

A “Tiny” Christmas

The Christmas tree is a symbol of love… ~Andy Rooney, American radio and TV writer

I

Become

Dazzling

When my lady

Hangs decorations

On my branches and then

Steps back to admire the view.

Red ornaments and golden bows

Make me feel like a real Christmas tree,

Proving once again all trees are special.

 

Note: Poetry form is Etheree. I’ll be taking a few days off to celebrate the holidays with family and friends. Please, everyone, have a safe and beautiful Christmas and New Year’s Day!

Close Friends

Hold a true friend with both your hands. ~Nigerian proverb

Once

You were

The center

Of my world and

My prized possession.

Then I put you aside

For years — no, make that decades.

You never complained nor did you

Seem to resent my indifference.

But good friends shouldn’t be treated that way.

It was a silver flute that caught my eye.

Learning to play it became my goal.

But I don’t have to choose, do I?

Playing both instruments would

Make me more valuable.

Now that you’ve been fixed

I’m going to hold

Both of you

Near my

Heart.

Note: Poetry form is a Double Etheree.