“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” – John Steinbeck
“Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.” – Henry James
“Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.” ― William Shakespeare
I have always hated good-byes. They suck.
There are all sorts of good-byes in this world. This past weekend, a blogger friend of mine had to say good-bye to one of her dear little cats, and everyone who knows me at all knows what cats mean to me. I feel your grief, Lois!
And you might think when another blogger friend decides to no longer continue with her blog that it wouldn’t be a very big deal, but to me, it is. A virtual, cyber relationship can be meaningful, especially when it is a relationship that has gone on for a while and you have supported each other in ways other people can’t. She will be missed. 😦
But I am richer for having known her. As a writer, I understand why she needs to do this. And we will still be in touch on Twitter (though that isn’t the same!)
I wish all the best for you, C.R., in your writing career and everything you do.
Try to drop by once in a while, okay?
That is all.
Someone was overjoyed last night to have her mom home again. 🙂
#holding hands #love my cat #home sweet home
❤ ❤ ❤
Pamela Wight is one of the many authors I follow here on WordPress. She writes the blog, Rough Wighting: “Life in a flash – a weekly blog on daily living.”
I enjoy her stories and her engaging writing style.
In Pam’s own words:
“I write because I love the written word…This blog shares that love. Parts of it contain fast flashes of life that I write for the total joy of it.
My last name is Wight, and I teach creative writing for fun – calling it Rough Writing. My students have renamed my class ROUGH WIGHTING, and I think that’s just perfect.”
I chose the following post from her blog because of how it highlights her grandchild’s wisdom and keen observation of people and the world around her. Plus, it’s funny!
Comments are closed here, but you can share a comment on the writer’s page.
My granddaughter is ten years old now, though in some ways she will always be my baby girl. 
When she was three and her brother was one, I took care of them for about a year and a half when my daughter returned to her nursing position at the Janeway Children’s Hospital. This was just before Paul and I moved to Newtown.
During the routine of caring for them, I would jot down anything our little girl said that made me smile.
At three years old:
“Nanny, I’m ‘boring’!”
“Oh, you are, are you? How about we go for a walk then?”
“Can’t we do something ‘funner’?”
Padmé was the name of her first cat. While she stroked her head gently: “I love Padmé even when she scratches me.”
While we were making cookies: “You’re going to Lead Cove this weekend, are you?”
“Yes, Nanny, so you’re going to miss us for a while.”
Her baby brother fell, bumped his head and cried. When he finally calmed down, she looked at me sadly and said, “I don’t like when that happens to my brother. It makes me scared.” (How well she articulates her feelings at such a tender age.)
“Nanny, it’s raining. Can I go outdoors with my ‘amp-brella’?”
“Your mac and cheese is ready, sweetie.”
“How come you didn’t say ‘roni’, Nanny?”
“I don’t want to grow up, Nanny.”
“Everybody grows up, honey. Why don’t you want to grow up?”
“Because I want you to always babysit me.”
She and her brother were fighting over something. “I’m so disappointed in him!”
(And continuing to build her vocabulary:) “This is so frustrating!”
(In reply to something I said to her:) “Apparently!”
This one floored me: “Oh, Nanny, I don’t know what to do with my life!”
She was telling me that she saw a cowboy when she was out with her mommy.
“He had a real cowboy hat and cowboy boots!”
“Where did you see him?”
“At the booze store.”
“When I grow up, I’m going to get married.”
“And who are you going to marry?”
Matter-of-factly, she said, “My brother.”
Four years old:
Holding her brother’s face in her hands: “His eyes are so beautiful, I could cry!”
Talking about her bad dream from the night before: “My dreams are broken.”
“What did you dream about last night, Nanny?” (I think she’s the only person who ever asked me that!)
“Nanny, you’re so sweet.”
“Why am I sweet?”
“Because you do so many things for us.”
She was telling me about the dead, mangled shrew that her cat Ginger had brought home recently. “Nanny, you could see inside it. It looked like old wires, like inside my very old couch.”
I commented on the cut on her leg.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said fearfully. The next day she announced out of the blue: “I’m ready to talk about my ‘owie’ now.”
We were out for a walk around the block when she pointed at a little girl across the street. “That’s my friend!”
“What is her name?”
“I don’t know…”
She told me about one day when another relative came to babysit. “When I saw it wasn’t you, I screeched!”
“Why, sweetheart?”
“I wanted you, Nanny, because I love you so much. I’ll love you till the stars fall from the sky…but that will never happen, so I’ll always love you.”
*Only last three photos were taken by yours truly. All others taken by the children’s Mommy and Daddy.
What cute things did your children or grandchildren say?
Please share below!
Further Reading: Kids Do Say The Darndest Things
Dear Santa:
Just a little message
it’s the same one every year
I do not yearn for presents
as Christmas Day draws near
what I wish for yuletide
is not inside your sack
I have been blessed already
there’s nothing that I lack
because on Christmas morning
when we gather ’round the tree
to see these little faces
is the only gift I need.
I’m taking a short break from blogging until after the New Year.
Wishing one and all a happy and healthy Holiday season!
Further Reading from Jennifer’s Journal:
Christmas Renewed
Greetings and meows, dear peeps and pets!
Maisie here, guest hosting on Jennifer’s blog today.
I thought it was high time I shared a little “cat tale” with you from five years back.
It was the Fall of 2010 and my sister Vivian and I, both three years old, had recently moved around the bay to Newtown with Jennifer and Paul. Up until then, we’d been raised as indoor city cats who rarely went outside unless it was in the backyard under vigilant watch by our owners.
While our soon-to-be permanent home on Perry’s Point was undergoing restoration and renovations, our little family had to bide our time in Mike Perry’s summer-house over near Barbour Tickle. As the weeks passed and our owners grew eager and impatient to move to the Point, they told us that once we got there, we would have the freedom to roam the area and come and go as we wished. Could such an incredible dream actually come true for a couple of city-dwelling felines like us?
One sunny afternoon, Jennifer and Paul let us outside in Mike’s garden to stretch our legs. They stayed with us as we explored the bank of the Tickle and were pleased that we didn’t try to wander away. So the next day they let us out again. This time however, they didn’t keep such a close eye on us and that’s where the trouble started.
When they decided to let us back inside, lo and behold, they only found one cat: yours truly. My sister Vivian had disappeared. I watched through the window as they called and called to my wayward sibling, but to no avail. As the day passed into evening, their worry grew more and more palpable.
Jennifer and Paul went off to search the neighbourhood. They found no sign of her. When she still hadn’t returned by the next morning, they became frantic, and took off to search for her again, singing out Vivian’s name until their voices grew hoarse. Later, to Jennifer’s horror, Paul found a ragged strip of fur on the bank of the Tickle that looked a lot like Vivian’s striped tail. Now it appeared that foul play might be involved. Had a dog attacked her? Or a rabid mink? Terror and grief filled our hearts at the possibility.
Jennifer was devastated. I heard her say they were stupid to let us outside, that she hated Newtown, and she wished we had never moved at all. I did what I could to console her and Paul, but even though I stepped up the affection it didn’t seem to help. I missed Vivian too and roamed from room to room, mewing my tiny mew. This was also the time I started the practice of sitting up in a kitchen chair and resting my chin on the table. In this pose I would gaze with sadness at my grieving owners, wishing there was something I could do.
The days and nights dragged by, the temperatures turned colder, and our hopes grew dimmer. Halloween came and went. Someone said they saw a cat that matched Vivian’s description way out on the branch road. Hope flared that she was still alive, but searches proved fruitless. Jennifer kept going out for walks, calling Viv’s name, but these investigations usually ended in tears. That strip of fur was the evidence that maybe she was really dead gone over that rainbow bridge after all.
Nineteen days had passed. I have to admit at this point I gave up hope. What is a kitty to do?
It was November 12th. Jennifer and Paul were watching the evening news, when we all heard a distinct “meow” coming from outside the window. Jennifer bolted from the couch and ran to the front door. Paul said, “It can’t be Vivian!”
When Jennifer swung the door open, she told us later she was afraid of what she might see. A strange cat? Vivian with her tail missing?
But in waltzed Vivian, her white fur grey with dirt, her tail intact. She cried and cried, her feeble meows filling the house. I went over to smell her. She didn’t smell like my sister and I hissed at her as if she was a stranger. But our owners were overjoyed. Their missing kitty came back after almost three weeks!!
“We thought she was a goner, but the cat came back, she just couldn’t stay away!”
She’d lost weight, was hungry and thirsty, but otherwise fine. She stank of wood smoke, so we think she might have kept warm under someone’s shed with a wood stove or had been barred in. Paul gave her a sponge bath in the tub while she purred the entire time. She barely left his side for the next 24 hours. She was so weak, she could only eat small amounts of food until she regained her strength after many days.
Needless to say, we didn’t get to go outdoors anymore, not until we finally moved to Perry’s Point. By then it was winter, so we didn’t want to stay out at all because of the cold and the unfamiliar roar of the ocean and the howl of the wind. By the time Spring arrived, the nightmare of Vivian’s disappearance was a distant memory and we began our outside adventures that to this day have been pleasantly uneventful.
Happily, Jennifer went back to liking Newtown. I don’t think Vivian ever forgot her ordeal because she’s never dared to stray far from home again. We think as well that the terrible experience is what has made her a much needier cat than I.
As for that ragged strip of fur, well, to this day it remains a mystery.
Thank you for reading!
❤
I love this little story because it embodies my outlook on how we need to enjoy life today. Success doesn’t have to be a future, “pie-in-the-sky” notion of something to strive for or wait for, but what we love and cherish about our lives in the present.
A Simple Life
A businessman was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The businessman complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied only a little while.
The businessman then asked why he didn’t stay out longer and catch more fish? The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs. The businessman then asked, but what do you do with the rest of your time? The Mexican fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take a siesta with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos; I have a full and busy life, señor.”
The businessman scoffed, “I am a Harvard MBA and I could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats; eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the processor and eventually open your own cannery. You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually New York City where you would run your expanding enterprise.”
The Mexican fisherman asked, “But señor, how long will this all take?” To which the businessman replied, “15-20 years.” “But what then, señor?” The businessman laughed and said, “That’s the best part! When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich. You would make millions.” “Millions, señor? Then what?” The businessman said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”
The fisherman, still smiling, looked up and said, “Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”
– Author Unknown
What is your idea of success?
Do you believe you will only find happiness after all your goals are reached?
Or are you happy with what you have right now?
Nothing gets me out of bed in the morning quicker than the expectation of savoring rich, delicious coffee.
At least two big, fragrant, caffeine-infused cups are an essential part of my routine and a necessity to get my brain working. Later in the day, however, my beverage of choice is tea, usually of the green variety.
I know; big deal, right? Why am I blogging about something so ordinary?
Because sometimes, something as simple and mundane as your cup of tea or coffee can be elevated to (extra)ordinary, depending on where you are, who bought it or brewed it for you, or who may be around to share the experience.
Sometimes a cup of tea is made extra special when it comes to you as a gift – a pretty mug and coaster in your favourite colour, along with your first infuser, and a yummy variety of loose tea flavours from DAVIDsTEA. (Thank you, Daughter. 🙂 )
Other times, a cup of coffee can be special when you get to enjoy it in a new locale.
Like the Caribbean!
And that is whether you drink it inside where it’s cool…
…or outdoors in the incredible, tropical heat.
Morning coffee tastes particularly wonderful in Rome…
Of course, when in Rome, it should be espresso, shouldn’t it?
Perhaps cappuccino? Nope. I stick to old, reliable Caffé Americano– style.
Java on the balcony of your room in Cannes also tastes pretty darn special.
And during a dinner cruise on the Seine in Paris?
The pleasure of a coffee after your gourmet meal is hard to outclass.
But as delightful as you can imagine all of these cups of coffee and tea were, there is one cup of tea I remember the most with enduring fondness. Today in particular, it makes all the others pale in comparison.
It is the memory of Mom and I sipping tea together in the late afternoon sun…
…on an incredibly special day, made that much more memorable by an intimate moment shared.
Today also happens to be a noteworthy day for my family. To be able to indulge in a good ol’ cup of orange pekoe tea with my mother today, on her birthday…it doesn’t seem like a great deal to ask for.
But again this year and for the rest of my days, fond memories will have to do.
Happy Birthday, Mom.
Knowing how much you always loved your tea,
this morning I’d like to imagine Dad putting the kettle on
and the two of you enjoying a cup together.
And I’ll raise my cup to you.
❤
Jennifer
As promised, here is Part Two of yesterday’s post, where I continue down memory lane, this time with my son Brian. Unfortunately, most of the photos from his childhood do not include me (I was holding the camera), so I filled in with other loved ones.
~ So ends this two-part series of my Blast From the Past. ~
Daily Post Weekly Photo Challenge: Change
What does change mean to you?
Jennifer's Journal 