Cat Freebies

     It was a lovely evening in North Carolina.  We had been invited out for supper at a local bar and grill.  This establishment sits nestled behind the end of a small strip mall.  The owners have converted part of the parking lot into an outdoor cooking area along with outdoor seating.  It had been a hot and steamy day, but with the sun tucked neatly behind the horizon, the evening air was cool enough to warrant sitting outside.

     There is a lone, black feral cat that has taken up residence at this place.  She has an endless food supply and the cooks and waiters even give her small cans of cat food on occasion.  There is a small wooded area right behind the cooking pit and I imagine that is where she calls home.  She is a sad looking mess, and kind of mangie but, she keeps a wary distance from the diners and patiently waits for a morsel or two to hit the ground.  When that happens, she uses her stealthy cat moves, retrieves the tidbit and slinks off, usually none the wiser to the customer.

     As we sat enjoying the encroaching coolness of night and good conversation, we noticed a young woman getting very close to the cat.  She had set herself in a chair, right next to a small can of cat food.  As the cat made its way to the can and began to eat, she ever so gently reached down to touch it.  The cat must have been pretty hungry because she did not bolt, but hunched down a little closer to the can and continued to eat.  

     We were watching this scene play out and wondered what the girl was up to.  We did not have to wait long.  On about the second attempt to pet the cat, the girl seized it by the scruff of the neck.  She then stood up, with the cat curled into a fetal position dangling from her hand, turned towards us and uttered these three words....."THIS is skill!"

     She then proceeded to go back to her table where she had a pet carrier waiting.  This was not one of those hard plastic carriers, but rather something that resembled a book bag, with open mesh windows for air circulation.

     Most cat owners know, that even the most mild mannered cat in the world can turn into a whirling mass of fur and claws when it comes to putting them in something they do not wish to be put in to.  It soon became obvious that this young lady missed that class when she was learning her cat skills.

     She placed the cat, still hanging in the fetal position, into the bag.  When she released her grip from the cats' neck.....the bag became a writhing, jumping, heaving, living creature of which there are few words left to describe.   The girl frantically tried to zip the top of the bag shut, but she was out maneuvered by this feline who had survived quite well without anyone's assistance. That cat shot out of the bag like a ball out of a cannon. The young lady was lucky the cat did not climb right up the front of her shirt and launch off the top of her head.   That indeed, would have been an encore presentation and had it happened, we would have been rolling on the floor as we were already having a hard time stifling our laughter.

     Some times the best entertainment is free and this was no exception to the rule. 

Sand Box Pay Back

     The year was 1972.  It was summertime and just a couple of months before my 16th birthday.  I had accompanied Mother and her sister and husband on a road trip to Florida.  I had never been to the ocean before and was anxious to see it.  Since I had my learners permit for driving, they let me behind the wheel.  As we rounded one last curve, near St. Augustine, the sand dunes fell away and the Atlantic Ocean was crashing a wave on its sandy shore.  I nearly drove off the side of the road.

     I had never seen anything more fascinating in my life.  We stayed at a small beach side motel and I could not wait to get in the water.  The waves amazed me.  I soon realized if I jumped when the next one rolled in, it would lift me up and set me down again.....in waist deep water.  I did this over and over again, mesmerized by this magnificent body of water.

     I was soon jolted back to reality when I turned around to look at the shore.  It was a long way from where I had started out.  On closer inspection, I noticed a small figure, about an inch or two tall, running wildly down the beach with its arms waving like a windmill in a summer storm.  It was Mother.....and she was frantic. I had no idea why she was so upset, gee-wizz, I was still standing in waist deep water.

     When I got back to her, she was still beside herself.  We made our way back to the motel and I headed to the bathroom to get cleaned up for supper.  There was no tub in the room, only a shower.  We didn't grow up with a shower, so this was a new experience too.  When I finished and pushed the shower curtain back, the entire floor was covered with about two inches of water.  I had no idea the curtain went on the inside....not the outside of the stall.

     Fast forward nearly 45 years.  Same ocean, but a different location and a 14 year old grandson in tow.  He had seen the Gulf of Mexico, but not the ocean and his fascination mirrored mine all those many years ago.  I watched him and our new friend, who had joined us for this short trip, as they hopped up with the incoming waves, set down in waist deep water and then repeat the whole process again and again.  Being wiser, I know what can lie beneath the surface.  Being older, I now knew why Mother was so upset. They were getting smaller and smaller.  I made my way out, within shouting distance, and hollered for them to come back. 

     A hidden trough waited about ten to fifteen feet from the shore.  It was about four foot deep and probably that many feet wide.  Once on the other side, the depth returned to about shin level, but the waves made navigating this ditch a bit tricky.  Rather than try to walk through this, I decided I would just ride the next wave over the top and onto the shore.  This decision gave new meaning to beached whale.  I skimmed over the top of the ditch, but I could not get up.  Every time I tried, another wave would roll in and toss me to and fro.  Laughing at myself did not help either, but I finally got back on my feet and felt like I had been exfoliated from head to toe.  A short time later, our grandson tried the same thing.  I laughed so hard I nearly cried.  Each attempt to get on his feet was met with another wave and he would bob and roll like a cork.

     If you have never been to the ocean, put it on your list of things to do before you check out.  Just remember this one important detail.....the waves that have been pounding stones into sand for millions of years will also put said sand in places you forgot you had.

     As we were thinking about calling it a day, our grandson decided to go in first to get cleaned up.  When he returned, our conversation went something like this..."Ummm, grandma?"  "Yes.", I answered.
"There was sand in my trunks and I got some on the bathroom floor."  I laughed and told him not to worry about it, I would clean it up.

     Our friend made a short trip back to our room.  When she returned she told me it looked like a crime scene in the bathroom.  I went to see what I had to deal with.  Not only was the bathroom floor completely covered with sand and small rocks, there was sand in the toilet, on the toilet and in the bathtub.  The image of Mother using all of our bath towels to mop up my shower faux pas flooded my memory and I'm pretty sure, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Angel of Karma doing a back flip out the bathroom door.

     I could not help but chuckle as I pushed sand across the floor, to the nearest corner, and scooped it into the trash can with a wet wash cloth.  At least I did not have to use all the towels to get the mess cleaned up.  

     The grandson had learned a valuable lesson and the payback was priceless.

The Deep Blue Sea

     There it was, before me, the Atlantic Ocean.  The sight of it took my breath away.  I had seen it before, more than once, but never in this kind of splendor.  My mind raced back in time, twenty five years ago.  A time when I stood on its shore, with my husband and our daughters.  Being a romantic, I looked at my husband and said, "Isn't it great?"  He answered, "Kinda grey isn't it?"  First, he is not a romantic and second, he has seen the Pacific, still something on my bucket list, the Atlantic did not impress him.

     But, this time was different.  This time it was the most beautiful shades of green and blue, as far as the eye could see.  The waves were small, possibly two feet tall, but they were moving quickly.  The water was crystal clear and cold, perhaps the recent large storm had something to do with that.

     We stood on the beach, this time with our oldest grandson and a new friend we have had the pleasure to meet.  We all stood silent as we gazed out over this magnificent sight.  Then, as if by magic, the first dorsal fin broke through the surface.  It was soon followed by another and then another.  Dolphins.  Dolphins in the wild. 

     The sun rises so quickly over the ocean.  It gives one a new perspective not only about how fast we are spinning through space, but how quickly our allotted time is ticking away.

     The waves, on this body of water, have been pounding the shores for eons.  Each grain of sand, once a rock or a shell, have fallen victim to the energy within the waves.  It will continue to do so, long after we are gone.  Long after we have procrastinated our lives away.  It does not care what we do or do not do because the ocean is doing what it is supposed to do....it's moving, it's living, it's vibrating.

     Albert Einstein once said, "Everything is energy and that's all there is to it.  Match the frequency of the reality you want and you cannot help but get that reality.  It can be no other way.  This is not philosophy.  This is physics."

     If you do not believe that, go sit by the deep blue sea.

     

     

What It's Really About

     Another. Mass. Shooting.  The media, government officials and some folks in general, are all up in arms about arms.....guns.  If there were more gun control, these kinds of things would not happen.  Look how many people have been killed by this sort of weapon.  Ban them, ban them all.

     Although I am not a gun owner, I would like to point something out.  Not being a weapons expert, I'm sure that my explanation will make a few experts cringe, but, here goes......A semi automatic assault  weapon is a gun that holds a whole lot of bullets but will only fire those bullets when the trigger is pulled.....one at a time.....one pull of the trigger means one bullet will fire.....to fire another bullet, the trigger has to be pulled again......and again......and again.  On the other hand, an automatic assault weapon is a gun that holds a whole lot of bullets and will fire all those bullets with one pull of the trigger......as long as the trigger is held down, the bullets will continue to fire.  An automatic assault weapon is illegal to purchase in this country, whereas a semi automatic is not.

     tRuth As I See It is simply my opinion.  The question I hear a lot is 'why in the world does anybody want to own (or need) a semi automatic assault weapon?'  My guess would be the same reason people like to drive cool cars, wear outrageous fashions, spend X amount of money on sexy under garments, build huge mahonkin' houses, buy luxurious yachts and the list could go on and on.  People like cool stuff.  People watch movies where the good guys get the bad guys and the good guys are carrying automatic assault weapons and they want one too.  So, they buy the next best thing. It looks bad to the bone and it's legal.

     The issue is not about guns because we could make a list, a mile long, of other things that kill.  Things do not kill people, the people in charge of the things do.

     To me, the real issue in this latest catastrophe is the fact the shooter had been investigated, more than once, for possible terrorists links.  If a there is zero tolerance for alcohol impaired driving, why is there not zero tolerance for being connected, or a suspicion of being connected, to a known terrorist group?   Why not tattoo a capital "T" on their foreheads so the rest of the people can help keep an eye on them.  Would that offend them?  Probably, but pussy footing around trying not to offend anyone certainly is not working. 

     Most people who commit this type of heinous crime had some little quirk, that set them apart from being what the majority would consider 'normal'...... and someone knew it.  That someone either did not care, or was too afraid to say anything, for fear of the backlash lest they offend someone.   When that mindset changes, so will society.

     We need to know the person next door and we need to be okeedokee about speaking up.

      

     

     

     

       

Children of the Geese

     I could hear her talking.  My friend, one floor down and one apartment to the left.  Her voice was soft and comforting.  I knew what she was doing and who she was talking to.

     I leaned over the railing, watched her and said, "Raisin Bran?"

     She jumped, then giggled and said, "Don't you tell my husband!  He only got one bowl out of the whole box!"

     My friend, the Goose Whisperer, was feeding the geese.  Raisin Bran was all she had, at the time, but I've seen her toss a bowl full of cooked rice over the railing.......and an entire loaf of bread that had just been purchased the day before.  

     She loves to feed the geese and talks to them while she tosses whatever is the morsel of the day over the railing.  She has several of them named and when I watch them interact with her, I think they know what she is saying.  They walk under her balcony every day, at the same time of day and look for her.  It is funny to see them turn their heads to the side so they can look up to see if it's raining cereal.

     Then, there are the Bread People.  No one seems to know exactly where the Bread People come from, or what they do for a living.  They arrive every morning, in their vehicle, jump out, open the trunk and the back doors and arm themselves with loaves of bread.  We ponder as to how they come up with so much bread because the back seat of the car is almost level to the windows with it.  Perhaps they work at a bakery.  Perhaps they have the inside track on day old bread that the stores have to get rid of.  Perhaps, they won the lottery and can afford to buy all the bread they want. Regardless the reason, they feed the geese about four loaves a day and these are just the geese at Big Pond.  They make several stops each day for different flocks of the Canadian honker.  

     One day, the Bread People showed up a bit earlier than usual and the pair of geese that stay at Big Pond were in the playground area.  Mr. Bread Person, arms loaded with bread, called to the pair, just like one would call a dog, and the geese waddled as fast as they could, wings spread, necks out stretched, honking all the way, in his direction.

     It can be argued that refined white or wheat bread is not healthy for the geese.  But, the Bread People have been doing this a long time and the geese do not seem any worse for wear.

     Yes, I too have fallen victim to being a child of the geese. I save the bread heels and even though I realize I could be flogged by a thousand feathers, there is something magical about one of these wild fowl gingerly plucking a small piece of bread from my fingers. 

     I read an article about people who feed geese.  It said one should be honored to be accepted as a fellow goose.  I will honor that.

     

Raindrops & Goslings

     Having not been in this new place long enough to understand the weather patterns, we have come to the conclusion that this must be the rainy season.  We marvel at the accuracy of the local meteorologist when it comes to the forecast of rain.  If they say it will rain at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, it will.  It may only be a sprinkle, or a drop or two, but it still qualifies as rain.

     It rains a lot in the evening or during the night.  When checking on the weather in the mornings, if it gives a 50% chance for rain, most likely it happened before we ever got out of bed.

     I believe there is a grand design and plan at work on this planet and the rainy season here serves more purpose than just replenishing the water supply.  Not only is it the rainy season, but it is the season of the goose.

     The locals have said that many of these Canadian Geese stay year round.  I thought there were a lot of them when I first landed in this place, but since the season of the hatchling has arrived, their numbers have increased seven fold.   There are geese everywhere.

     Not being extremely gooseified, I just assumed that the new ones all hatched at the same time, given a day or two.  That is not the case.  There are herds (yes, I know it should be flocks, but when all they can do is waddle, they look like herds) of baby goslings ranging in ages from three to four weeks old, to just a few days. The fuzzy looking little ones are a dirty yellow color and cute.  The ones that are older by a couple of weeks begin to take on the appearance of a velociraptor and the area around the pond looks like a scene out of Jurassic Park. 

     Adult geese are very protective of their new fledglings and do not take kindly to another pair of geese, family in tow, getting to close to their brood.  The only exception to this is the goose that has lost its mate.  One pair has let this one enter into their fold and between the three of them, they have a grand total of 17 goslings.

     I'm not kidding when I say there are geese everywhere.  They. Are. Everywhere......and not just in this complex.  We have not gone anywhere in the city that we have not seen a flock of geese either in the middle of a parking lot, or sitting on a small patch of grass between the shopping centers.  

     With a lot of geese, there is a lot of goose poo.  It. Is. Everywhere.  The roads are covered with it and so are the sidewalks.  This calls for careful navigation, especially when taking the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, Runtly, out for a walk.  Runtly loves goose poo.  He can eat it, or roll in it, doesn't matter to him, as long as he can get close to it.

     So, after a night of heavy rainfall, it was a delight to take the Runt out this morning.  As we walked up the quiet, empty street, there was not one pile of poo to be found.  Runtly was disappointed, but it was nice to be able to walk him without having to keep a constant eye on him while he searched for his next dip and dive.

     But, the day is early, the sun is shining, the geese are honking and the gosling herd is on the move.  Runtly's disappointment won't last too long......so, let it rain.

     

If You Ever Get The Chance

     It was going to be a quick trip, but one that had to be made.  There were graduates, young and younger, who we needed to see, in person, walk down to the podium to receive their diplomas.

     The route back home was one I was looking forward to because it was different from the one I took when I came to this new place. We set out on our journey in the wee hours of the morning.  Neither of us enjoy driving in the dark, but the timing could not have been any more perfect.  As the sun began to rise, we were climbing the first foothill into the mountains of West Virginia.  

     What an awesome sight to behold!  The view was nothing short of magnificent.  One could see for miles across a valley dotted with the lights of small mountain towns. The sun was just beginning to crest on the far side of the valley and its morning rays painted the sky in hues of yellow and orange.  

     As we made the ascent further into the Appalachian Mountains, we knew the old saying, 'what goes up, must come down', would come into play.....and so it did.  My husband was behind the wheel and mastered the descents, winding road and hairpin curves.  I took in all the breath takings views and marveled as to how in the world anyone ever crossed these before there was a highway that cut a swath in what surely can be called God's country.  We went through two tunnels and to see the mountain peaks above them was a reminder of what feats man can accomplish if he sets his mind to something.

     To drive across a portion of this great country is the very best way to see how quickly the landscape can change.  Before we knew it, the mountains had turned back into foothills and the foothills gave way to the flat rolling plains of the Midwest.

     Our trip back was actually three fold.  We had graduations ceremonies to attend, a grandson that would be returning with us for a visit and two vehicles to bring back on the return trip.  The combined ages of the two vehicles adds up to 76 years old.  Most people, in their right mind, would not attempt a thousand mile journey in such old automobiles, but my husband assured me, and reassured me, they would make the trip just fine.  

     He drove his chariot with the grandson in tow and I drove the little black truck with the ever so entertaining Jack Russel Terrier, Runtly, as my co-pilot.  The return trip would take two days because I wanted our grandson to have the experience of the mountains in the light of day.  The little black truck began to periodically backfire about 30 miles into the first leg of the trip, but otherwise, ran smoothly.  As I drove across the prairie, popping like a firecracker, I prayed that the guardian angels assigned to me, would keep the truck running.

     As we headed into the mountains on the second day, I discovered that it was much easier to take in the beauty of this place whilst being a passenger.  There isn't much time for viewing the sights when you have the death grip on the steering wheel and navigating traffic filled with folks headed home from a long holiday weekend.  I kept my eyes glued to the road and hoped no one thought I was firing a gun at them as I snap, crackled and popped through the high hills and low hollows.

     Just as we reached the foothills that looked out over the above mentioned valley, the little black truck decided it had had enough.  At nearly 80 mph, it quit.  It did not cough, sputter or anything of that matter.....it just quit.  

     The sides of the road, where one can pull over and off the main lane of traffic, are not near as wide in the mountains as they are in the flat lands.  The only saving grace to getting completely out of the lane was the fact that there was an exit ramp coming up.  It gave way to a bit more room, but stepping out of the truck meant placing my feet in the driving lane.  

     So, there we sat, traffic whizzing by at break neck speeds and not a clue as to what to do next.  I hoped that this mountain experience did not scar my grandson for life, but he seemed to be fine......but of course, the vehicle he was in was still running.

     A few minutes went by and then a white truck with flashing lights pulled up behind us.  He worked this section of highway just for the purpose of helping people in need.  He was indeed an angel. 

     The little black truck had to be towed to a neighboring town and the auto parts store just happened to be open on Memorial Day.  It seemed the whatchamacallit in the thingamajig had gone bad.  My husband was able to get the part, fix the problem and within two hours we were back on the road, little black truck running like a charm.

     If you ever get the chance to drive through the state of West Virginia and the Appalachian Mountains, take it.  You will not be disappointed .  Just make sure, before you leave, to check the whatchamacallit.