Love For Creamsicle

chin up, sweet cream

investigating the lens

snuggled with brother blue

lots and lots and lots of pets

could they be any cuter?

we're all good

Over at the SPCA No Kill Adoption Center in the Eastern Hills mall, there's a sign-up sheet for a rapidly growing club. It's the  Blue-Skidoo Fan Club. It seems our baby Blue has blossomed and his emerging personality is charming the socks off more than a few humans, most notably the lovely lady in charge, Stephanie. She and Blue are no less than smitten with each other and it was she who received the very first honor of having Blue roll over to show his belly for petting. I saw the belly roll with my own eyes, heard his purr and his sweet, little voice  and even had the pleasure of holding Blue myself. With his cross-eyed good looks and expanding sense of trust, Blue is headed for rock-star status.

Yesterday, when I visited the boys, my focus was on Creamsicle. He is making wonderful progress, in my opinion. He did not try to hide under Blue's chin when I reached in to pet him, but instead, kept his own chin up and his ears alert. I stroked him for a long time, paying special attention to his face. And after awhile, he purred for me. That little gift made my day.

The boys are getting such good care from Stephanie and her lady volunteers. The opportunity to visit them regularly and help to socialize them has been a balm for my soul. It will be a bittersweet day when they find a permanent home. 

In the meantime, please stop in to see the boys and let them know they're loved. (Chances are you'll run into my friend, Elaine, who stops in to help with socializing). Sign up to be a member of the Blue-Skidoo Fan Club. And if you are able, please consider bringing a donation of wet or dry cat food, clumping cat litter, paper towels, cleaning supplies or old fashioned cash. There's even a green and yellow fund raising recycle bin just outside the mall doors for your old magazines, catalogs and newspapers. When the bin is full the adoption center receives money in exchange. Clear your clutter and help the cats. (The Smithsonian mags swimming in the bin are mine...)

The Joy Project~ come ride with me

The Real Work

{ Yes, I say, yes, I say, yes!}

"The real work of this life is not
what we do every day from nine to five.
The real work is to disidentify from self-images

that were formed a lifetime ago,
and from which we still construct our daily lives.

The real work is to allow ourselves
to be who we already are,
and to have what we already have.
The real work is to be passionate,
be holy, be wild, be irreverent,
to laugh and cry until you
awaken the sleeping spirits,
until the ground of your being cleaves
and the universe comes flooding in."


~Geneen Roth
in Appetites: On the Search for True Nourishment

I found this quote today over at Lisa's land of renegade.

  The timing, for me, could not have been more perfect.

a necessary time

i am finding it takes a certain amount of courage to clean the slate. the back-of-the-drawer-discoveries, combined with the in-plain-sight-what-the-hell-do-i-still-need-that-for realizations require backbone to keep inertia and confusion at bay. momentum can so easily get bogged down in sentimentality.

but progress is being made.

the old clothes dryer is gone (unexpectedly), and a new one tumbles in its place. the old car is gone (expectedly and requiring the most muster of courage) and a much newer one sits in the driveway, in front of the garage, not in it, so i can peek at it out the window. the table linen drawers have been reduced to one, the vintage suitcases with some one else's initials wait outside the door for removal, the manuals for things i no longer own are recycled.

the process continues.

part of me feels woozy. part of me feels the light beginning to pour forth from the cracks in the fortress of second-hand clutter. and part of me is hyper aware of the correlation between the things I am removing physically and the thoughts i keep cluttered in my brain that no longer serve me. they must be put to the curb as well, or the clean slate i strive for will not stay clean for long.

it is a vulnerable time.

it is a necessary time.


it is a time and a quest for full blown trust in myself.


{photo: the last wash of my now former car.}

finding the current reflection

in the heat and the clutter and the where-did-they-come-from fleas, a new life is being forged. the old life, the inertia, the sorry-i'm-too-exhausted-to-participate-but-thanks-for-asking response is being vacuumed up, put to the curb and traded in for better.

what lies behind and under the leftovers of former dreams and unfulfilled efforts? what, more precisely who, am i without the totes of vintage hats, grateful dead bootlegs, art supplies, years of smithsonian magazines, and reams of torn-out, unused recipes stuffed in a drawer? who am i if i step aside from the unconscious clutter and attachment to mementos of all my former selves? who am i in the midst of a pared down, second-hand free, keep only things that reflect my current state of being environment? i plan to find out.

with high hopes and enthusiasm, i am lightening my load. ruthlessness is now the path to my true inner nourishment, my understanding of what-in-the-hell has meaning to me at this stage of my life.

the garbage men will hate me in the morning, the car salesman will be my new best friend tomorrow night, the salvation army will love me next week. i have felt somewhat lost. i am purging to be found.

The Blue And Cream Revolution

quality alone time

just look at that face!

door opened, litter box removed, head for safety

reaching in for petting, creamsicle so scared!

blue and creamsicle, relaxed and sleepy after heavy petting

i am in the midst of nothing short of an inner revolution. words have failed me to express the depth and the challenges of my forward movement. my skin feels thin. my world, held in place by decades of thought and will, is being reshaped. a new world requires new thoughts, new attitudes, new eyes unfettered by fear. control must be surrendered in some areas, taken back in others. nourishment is crucial. joy is crucial. sacredness must be rediscovered.

while i side-step forward to god-knows-what, blue and creamsicle are with me. we are all adjusting at a slow pace, but we will each find our permanent home. they are me and i am them, orbiting together, doing our collective best as life expands and changes.

yesterday, at the adoption center, when i reached to the back of the cage to pet the boys, creamsicle cringed. i was told he would hiss at me, but all he did was try to disappear under blue's chin. i began with blue and stroked his face and rubbed his nose and held my hand over the raw spots on his skin to add some healing vibes. blue accepted my touch. slowly, i rested the heal of my hand on blue and began to rub creamsicle's head. he let me. i rubbed his ears and nose. i traced circles on his forehead, quietly chanting, "creamsicle loves to be petted". he visibly relaxed and allowed full-handed pets down his body. i stroked him and chanted for a long time. progress was made. more will come.

the boys are here to remind me of the tenderness and determination with which i must attend to my own needs. if you have followed their story, they are reminding you of the same. patience and love have been, are and will be in order~ for revolution, for freedom from fear, for cream and blue, for me and you.


{ If you're in the Buffalo, NY area, please stop in to the SPCA No Kill Adoption Center at Eastern Hills mall and help the boys become socialized. The sooner they lose their fear of people, the sooner they'll find a home.}

Here At The End Of Some Things

It is a strange and awkward task to dismantle the home of some one still living. The nest and representation of half of my Oma's life has begun to be distributed between garbage bags and boxes.

The ever-present cluster of rubber bands on the kitchen door handle, the lifetime supply of dixie cups, the 27 tubes and plastic bottles of various hand creams (one dating back to the 1970's in the form of Jean Nate), the scraps and scraps and scraps of wrapping paper, they all went into garbage bags.

The stacks of Christmas tea towels, the 17 oven mitts (some with tags still attached), the pumpkin candles, the skeins and skeins and skeins of yarn, they all went into boxes.

The photographs that exploded out of drawers and nooks in every room were contained, in totes, in one area. The gallery-worthy hand knit tablecloths and embroidery were slung over hangers in another. A few of the garden gnomes, who lived for years in my Oma's backyard and of late found themselves suffocating  in  musty boxes, made their way into the back of my car and will resurrect their kitsch by my door.

It is strange and awkward here at the end of some things, the end of an era of an immigrant's life. There is much more to sort, there is much more to toss, there is much more to handle with love and regard as we unravel the nest left empty by a mind in need of more care.

The Joy Project~ fur love

It's the summer of my joy project and there's no surprise, cats are on the project list. I stopped in to see Blue and Creamsicle the other day at the adoption center. I brought some on-sale wet cat food and paper towels. I intended to stay a short time; a few pets, a quick hello, off I go. Except there were 3 week old ill kittens being fostered by the volunteer on duty (their mother had been killed by a dog), and the cat room was filled with activity (I had to break up a disagreement) and well ,you know, that Blue and Cream pair must be fawned over and fed their dinner, and back to the kittens who got handed to me after their individual feedings for some love and burping and it was hard to take pictures, one handed, of their squirmy little selves and before I knew it, my short stay was not so short.

But I haven't felt such joy in a long time.

SPCA No Kill Adoption Center

miss ashley

Blue and Creamsicle are in very good company. Make that adorable company. I want you to see some of the faces of the cats at the SPCA No Kill Adoption Center at Eastern Hills mall in Clarence, NY. Along with our boys of color, I want each and every cat to be adopted. Most especially, the older ones.

I want to tell you about Miss Ashley. She has been with Sue, the cat whisperer, at the shelter for  5 years. 5 years! She was adopted once, but returned 3 weeks later because she hid under a bed the whole time. Let me tell you, Miss Ashely is soft as silk and happily allowed me to pet her. All she needs is someone with a big heart and patience enough to let her be who she is. I saw for myself she is lovable and sweet.

Miss Ashley is a bhodisatva, a compassionate being here to assist the brave and willing in becoming their best possible self. She is a teacher,  a way-shower. I recognize her because I, myself, have adopted a bhodisatva cat auspiciously named, Buddha. Animals, such as Miss Ashley and my Buddha, make humans more human. They clearly demonstrate through their tender and special needs where we as individuals need to love ourselves more. They offer us the opportunity to see ourselves mirrored in their actions and reactions. They offer us the option  to learn loving kindness towards them and accept them as they are, so we are then capable of showing the same to ourselves. I guarantee you Miss Ashely is cheaper than  therapy.

Please consider adopting an older cat. Please consider adopting Blue and Creamsicle, or Miss Ashley or any of the hard-to-resist cats at the SPCA No Kill Center. If you can't adopt at this time, please consider visiting the center and dropping off a donation of paper towels or Purina dry cat food or canned cat food or bleach or old towels or laundry detergent or lemon-scented pine sol. If you don't live in Buffalo, NY, please consider dropping off any of these needed items at the shelter nearest you.

p.s. Thank you to all the sweet souls who have visited with Creamsicle and Blue...

Not There

It's done. My beloved Oma has moved to an assisted living facility. The move is quite against her will. She thinks she is still capable of taking care of herself and living on her own, thank you very much. Of course, she can still drive. Except that she can't. Doctors orders. Of course, she still cooks, it is her life long passion after all, except she no longer remembers how to even cook eggs. Dementia has whisked her out the door of her home, her sanctuary, her stalwart identity of independence. The house at 296 Lake Street, my Oma's house, has lost its soul.

In that house, that suddenly silent house, stands a room that lives more poignantly in my heart than any other I've known. It is the room of comfort and joy. It is, it was my Oma's dining room. My entire life has been made up of occasions, large and small, that were celebrated, as a family, in that room. Some of the best meals of my life were served there, bathed in evening light; the earthy red cabbage (rot kohl) only Germans can properly prepare, the whipped cream tortes, the homemade pickled pumpkin, the meal-of-my-dreams that will never be served again with the same love or perfect hand, pfutchens and wine soup.

For the past 2 years I accepted every invitation to dine in that room, knowing that each meal could be the last. As all things do, the end has come. The gatherings pass into memory, the world turns, the evening light is extinguished. She is still here, but not there. There in the house of independence and love, and the room of my comfort and joy.

In Touch With Cream And Blue

Yesterday, I went to visit Creamsicle and Blue. It was the first time I ever touched them. They were so scared and my heart felt sad, but I'm assured they will come around. The care they are being given is fantastic.

Would you mind sending up a few prayers and requests that a loving person with patience and understanding will come along to give them a safe and happy home? If you live in Buffalo, would you mind paying them a visit a the SPCA shelter at Eastern Hills Mall and letting them know in person they are loved? Thanks from me to you. xo

Bee

I sit in the kitchen, fan whirring on high, as night falls on the last shards of spring. The evening star, beacon and friend, descends a blink at a time down the dusty window screen. I look up from a borrowed book. The room is scented with cold tea, green with jasmine, and the few remaining licks inside a yogurt cup. I notice the jumble of mugs and flea market juice glasses waiting to be washed. I quickly gaze past them and settle my eyes on the bee.

It was on the floor, dead, by the cat food bowl earlier in the week. I remember not not wanting to throw it away, but felt too lazy, at the time, to lay it under the hostas. So instead, I placed the bee on the sill, one stiff leg pointing skyward.

It is such an impossible little creature, with cellophane wings too small, in theory, to lift its weight. Yet, those bits of cellophane carried it up to my second floor kitchen, defying science and reason. Whether it died at the paws of a cat or whether it simply expired, unaided, next to the button-shaped kibble, I cannot know.

But its messages of "things are not so impossible as they seem" and "with willingness comes lift", I can know and I do know, and in its sacrifice, at the last shards of spring, I remembered.

The New Sheltered Life

Creamsicle~ so scared!

Blue~ scared, too!

Stephanie loving up to Blue

1st minutes at eastern hills mall, back together again.

Stephanie sitting in front of the boys

the cat room~ super clean!

The 2nd Rescue~part 2

The trusted little voice within that led me to 4 stray cats this past January, led me in May to a fairly new cat shelter at a local mall. At that mall shelter, I spoke with a volunteer and told her the story of Creamsicle and Blue. The story upset her. Especially the part of Creamsicle being labeled a feral. I inquired as to what it takes to get cats into that stellar and highly visible shelter. I was told they were not taking anymore cats. But. If I was willing to buy a dog cage and pay for the vet bills, they would take them, heal them and put them front and center with the other cats-in-a-row. The volunteer, Stephanie, told me they would absolutely find a loving home through their shelter. The woman in charge, Sue, also known as a cat whisperer, told me even if Creamsicle had feral tendencies, she would work with him and make him adoptable in short order. I was sold. And elated.

My plan evolved. I began the inquiry, via email, with the private shelter about being able to adopt the boys myself. I was met with heavy resistance. Just because I surrendered the cats did not give me the right to adopt them. They were now "owned" by the woman running the shelter. And she did not deem them adoptable at this time. Blue had only recently been neutered and given shots, and Creamsicle had made such a fuss at the spay/neuter clinic, hiding and scratching, the vet labeled him feral and would not perform the sterilization. A cat without shots and a neuter could not be adopted. The boys were now separated. Blue was in a small "healthy-cat" room (of which almost half the cats I witnessed in that room back in April were NOT healthy) and Creamsicle remained in his cage, alone, in the "getting acquainted/sick room".

I bought a large bag of saccharine. I spoon fed myself heaping quantities and wrote more emails. I was as nice and as patient as humanly possible. I out-right lied. I swallowed more saccharine and lied some more. And after more than a month, it was agreed I could have the boys back, not as an adoption, but as a "return of surrender", thereby absolving the private shelter of the need to give Creamsicle his veterinary care, or have any liability regarding the cats. The shelter made a last ditch attempt to convince me how much better off the cats would be in their care and that my responsibility had ended when I brought them in from the cold. I declined the offer and asked for the cats.

During my month of saccharine and lies, Stephanie kept in touch with me, asking for updates and helping me keep the faith. A cat-loving friend at work, Lynn, emptied her coin jar and gave me money to buy the dog cage. Because I found one on sale, her donation will go even farther. And finally, finally this past Monday evening at a gas station parking lot not far from the private shelter, Creamsicle and Blue were returned to me.

We drove immediately to Stephanie at the mall. Darling woman that she is, she welcomed them with big, loving arms. The boys were traumatized by the car ride and she had them calm in no time. She told them she loved them and with that, my lying days were over.

On Tuesday, the cat whisperer, Sue, paid the boys a visit and had Creamsicle sitting in her lap right away. She took him to her shelter's veterinarian and had him properly cared for. The vet laughed at the notion that Creamsicle was feral. Yesterday's email from Stephanie had me in tears, however. Both cats had arrived in rough shape. Ear mites, eye troubles and Blue, sweet Blue, has tapeworm soars on his skin and a virus on his tongue ,that if left uncared for, would "rot out his tongue". Rot out his tongue???? Holy mother of god. Stephanie said I got them to proper care in the nick of time. And both cats will be fully restored to health.

So this is what I ask of you, should you live in the Buffalo, New York area. Go visit Creamsicle and Blue. You will find them together, in full public view, at the Wyoming County SPCA satellite shelter at Eastern Hills Mall. Go in through the movie theater doors by Macy's. Look left and there they'll be, along with 65 or so other gorgeous cats. Give the boys some love. Let's heal them together and help them find the most loving home possible.(Stephanie would like to adopt them as a pair!)





Warning: I speak, on this video, as if I were an 8 year old child. Maybe a 6 year old. Feel free to roll your eyes.

The 2nd Rescue of Creamsicle and Blue

I had planned to write an update on the adventures and well being of the beautiful strays, Creamsicle and Blue, at the beginning of April.  I had planned to tell you how I was going to be a volunteer at the private shelter the boys were living at, how I was starting a blog to help get the word out about all the wonderful cats waiting for good homes. But the moment I stepped foot in that private shelter, the moment I saw for myself where the boys had been living since the end of January, my plans changed.

Instead of finding a scene that matched the glowing words I had been told for more than 2 months, I found a stench that almost brought me to my knees in the patio room where the boys were kept. The "getting acquainted/sick room" was ripe with illness and some cats in obvious pain. The little cat with complete bowel failure, coated in its own dried feces, and the panting cat, coated in her own dried saliva (from a toothache, I was told) horrified me the most. The boys were in a cage together, still unchecked by a veterinarian. Blue had developed an eye infection. Creamsicle looked terribly frightened. I was told he was likely a feral cat.

I toured the other parts of the small shelter and met most of the 200 cats. Say that again, 200 cats. It was obviously an understaffed operation, with 4 volunteers and the owner, if I recall correctly, and one of the volunteers had just quit. It was easy to see the situation was overwhelming. But in putting together some puzzling phrases I had heard from the ladies over the coarse of those 2 months and seeing the shelter in person and hearing some obvious statements of defense while at the shelter and realizing the attempts to adopt out any of the cats were few and far between, it hit me. What likely began as an extremely well-meaning, big-hearted desire to help the displaced cats of the world, turned into cat hoarding.

After taking a few videos of the crowded, healthy-cat section (there are some gorgeous cats in residence), I left with a thank you and a smile on my face. That smile was utterly false. I drove away and burst into tears. My God, what had I done? I got home and called no less than 4 cat-loving friends, sobbing and practically begging them to help me figure out what to do for Creamsicle and Blue.

After returning from Istanbul, I went in search of help. On the first day of my quest, I found it. With luck, divine intervention and the willingness of 2 fantastic women, I formulated a plan...

  Blue: april 2010

Creamsicle: april 2010

i have news

"Never, never be afraid to do what's right,

especially if the well-being of a person or animal is at stake.

Society's punishments are small compared

to the wounds we inflict on our soul

when we look  the other way."

Martin Luther King

i have news of creamsicle and blue.

stay tuned.

the joy project

As my brain clears and my head bobs to the surface, I can see the far horizon of summer. From this bobbing point and that distant line of earth meeting sky, I am formulating a plan, best termed a project, and it is all about joy; the seeking it, the finding it, the embracing it, the remembering what it feels like to live in it. This is my summer of the joy project. The goal is no less than the reclamation of me~ body, mind and soul. Join me, if you will, in dedicating this summer to keeping our hearts open to the little things that lift the spirits and remind us how glorious life can be.

The joy project filler-upper number 1, for me, is always nature. Luckily, I live 1 mile from an active arabian horse farm. I plan to hover at its fences on my way home from work, numerous times each week, to refill what was drained away.

And I promise myself I will pull over for the unexpected when it presents itself~ like the elusive mother wood duck and her 7 babies seen grazing on the side of the road yesterday. So what if I caused a bit of traffic annoyance as I slammed on my brakes and maneuvered closer to the painted lady and her brood. I had never seen a wood duck so out in the open and refused to miss the chance to observe.

Note to self: spend entire summer with camera at the ready. Capturing  joy brings joy.

So. Are you with me?

live music

it happens

it happens.

eventually, when the output of energy required during 40 hours of the week is greater than what is available within and like me, you just keep pushing onward for a very long time, and the various circumstances that make up your life each have their own stresses and those stresses mound themselves on top of one another, things begin to shut down.

eventually, like me, you may find yourself unable to enjoy a life beyond those bill-paying 40 hours, which realistically take up 56 hours of the week (with prep and commute) if you don't have to work overtime. you begin to decline invitations, you rarely answer the phone, email reply becomes spotty at best and one day you find yourself watching reality tv because your mind and body have gone numb.

interest is lost in most things that once sparked your imagination. emotions become out of balance. joy goes out the window and you are left sitting next to that window watching life blandly slip by. perhaps then, on the 3rd of 3 precious days off in a row from the usual work day extravaganza you find yourself, like me, unable to maintain a vertical position for any length of time, you may finally say, "what the f*ck".

you seek help.

eventually, like me, you will find a trusted soul who will say to you your adrenal glands, those power packs that sit on top of your kidneys, are spent. fatigued. exhausted. if you do some research you will find that every symptom of adrenal fatigue can be marked with a little red check. that trusted soul also has wonderful recommendations to help combat this level of fatigue and fingers crossed, gain back the life you've surrendered to useless television. you buy kelp tablets, a cadillac-level mutli vitamin and 100 capsules of b-complex. you begin to pop them like pez. you vow to eat better, even if it costs more money to buy already prepared dinners. there is joy on the far horizon and you vow to drag yourself there.

so this is me, dragging myself back to joy and interest in blogging and all around verve, one little homeopathic pill at a time.