Pausing

Having finished my errands around town, I had a few extra minutes to kill before picking up Isabelle from preschool today, so I drove down to Ludington park in Escanaba and pulled into one of the parking spots overlooking the bay. Lake Michigan was doing its best impression of one of its sisters, Lake Superior, spitting forth large, angry slate-colored waves that rocked and pitched in no real discernible pattern, tossing white spray into the air. The rain continued to beat down upon my windshield obscuring the view and a low cloud bank and mist made it difficult to even see the smoke stacks of the paper mill across the water, let alone the other side of the bay. The wind tore at the trees and shrubs along the shore, ripping the colored leaves off soaked branches and plastering them to the pavement of the sidewalk.

Inside the cocoon of my car I listened to the wind and the crash of the waves, watching the force of nature around me, feeling the dark sky pressing down above me, as if it did not realize it was the middle of the afternoon. I found myself wondering how many others sat looking out on this lake at this moment scattered around the shoreline. It certainly was not a typical day to admire the scenery, for on days when the sun was shining one could drive down to this spot and be met with a dozen cars. Now, glancing on either side of me I noticed two other drivers parked in my vicinity, keeping watch. Were their others like us in Traverse City perhaps? St. Ignace? Or at countless other roadside turnouts?

A lone seagull stood defiantly on the sidewalk outside my car, facing into the wind towards the lake, head hunched down into his body like a football player in full pads. Like us, he seemed to be watching. Did he find it beautiful, this ever changing lake, as I do, even on a day like today? I don't know, but I think all of us (seagulls or humans) would benefit by just stopping for ten minutes every now and again. To take a pause in our action to watch the action of the lake.

Balancing Act

I have this mental picture of myself sometimes, standing with my feet hip-width apart, wearing some kind of sturdy, comfortable shoe (maybe my Merrells, something I can wear a long time without my feet getting tired), my arms out either side of me, palms raised and holding ..... everything. And by everything I mean all the stuff in life that comes our way as women, that as women, we are expected to juggle, handle, deal with, manage, accomplish, complete, and most importantly of all, BALANCE. And I am not just talking the mundane tasks we are faced with, but the more important balancing act of trying to keep family time, couple time, personal time and even certain social obligations all on a level playing field. (You ladies know what I am talking about).


Above all else, it is the balance part in my life with which I struggle the most, and I am sure I am not alone. I think my foundation is solid; I have good intentions (back to my Merrells, love both pairs) but inevitably I always feel like I am not quite getting it right, my balance is off, one arm, one hand, is always holding more than the other. I think I am always letting someone down whether it is myself, my husband, my extended family, or even worse my daughter. For instance, I know Clay and I do not devote enough time to our relationship as a couple, but then again I would love you to introduce me to any parents of a four year old who does.


And finding some kind of balance with time for myself? As any mother knows you forgo the right to have time for yourself until at least, what? The child's eighteenth birthday? I thought of that last Friday night at about 9:30 in the evening as I found myself crouched behind my downstairs toilet finishing the last bit of painting around the plumbing in the back. Did painting my bathroom by myself qualify as "me" time? Or how about actually getting to use the bathroom by myself without a kid or a cat barging in? Is that finding time for myself? I suppose this time writing is the one thing I can say I do totally for my own sake (never mind the fact that I am also folding a load of laundry in between sentences).


Then there is my time with Isabelle. So much of my day with her is spent cleaning the house or running errands, making dinner, and I catch myself asking am I "balancing" this out with enough so-called quality time reading books or doing an activity which focuses solely on her? Has she watched too much television? Should I have taken her outside more today? Has she seen her grandparents enough? Come to think of it, have we seen enough of our extended families lately or are they feeling neglected because we have been so busy with our camp project? All of these little items course through my brain, me mentally attempting to weight them. I tie myself in knots and my arms in my little mental picture start to feel like they are holding two fifty pound cinderblocks.


Of course, the truly insane part in all of this is to think I can balance it all anyways because ultimately it isn't up to me. As much as I always try and want to make everyone content, I am not personally responsible for each individual family member's happiness... they are. As for the balancing act? All I can do is the best I can do. Today that meant staying home and reading books to Isabelle, doing a load of laundry, carving out thirty minutes of time (for myself) on the treadmill, digging up crock pot meatball recipes on the Internet, and even starting my Christmas shopping. And now I think I might just head downstairs to watch Monday night football with my husband. Maybe we can just find a few minutes of couple time after all.

Sweet Home Alabama

Isabelle and I drove out to camp on Sunday afternoon to bring the guys lunch. Clay and our good friends, Len and Mark were having a "plumbing party" and installing the necessary pipes that will go into camp for the bathroom, kitchen and sewer. Eventually even a stackable washer and dryer for yours truly (yes, this will not be your basic, rustic yooper camp, boys and girls).

It was one of those fall days where the weather could not decide what to do with itself. Giant blue/black clouds stacked on top of one another would occassionally mist down rain, only to allow sunshine to break through mere seconds later, but then a very cold wind would blow red, brown leaves across the hood of the Commander. Only days since the loss of our beloved cat it was no surprise to me when Isabelle told me she could see Nib up in heaven as she gazed up at those same enormous clouds. I once more had to reassure her that God would not let her beloved kitty fall from up above and that if he was busy then I was sure great grandma or great grandpa would be only too happy to look after him for us. It was with some relief that I pulled into sight of the beautiful distraction of our camp.

I was pleased to find the men nearly finished with their project after a steady mornings work and in no time we were grilling hot dogs and brats, munching on chips, and having a few beers to celebrate yet another phase in the Peterson project. It was as the guys were standing on the front porch (doing their male-bonding as men do) while the meat sizzled on the grill and I was sweeping up some of the mess (and happy to do so after their hard work) that I finally started to breathe. I know you are wondering what I mean, but for the last few days it had been a bit of a struggle to just be normal and not let Isabelle see how truly upset I was about Nib and I was just tense and tired and .... sad.

Then a funny thing happened. Life went on. I remember looking out our window at the beautiful expanse of field starting to turn gold, Clay, Len, and Mark leaning against the porch, casually holding their drinks and sharing a laugh and then Isabelle running in the door to me as Lynyrd Skynyrd's 1974 classic, "Sweet Home Alabama" started to play on the radio. As its unmistakable sound filled the cabin, I spontaneously told her to turn it up and I dropped my broom. We danced around the scraps of pipe and in the sawdust on the floor. I told Isabelle to show me her moves, watching my four year old swivel her hips and shake her "booty" and could not help but laugh. I put my arms in the air and spun around, shaking my own hips, grabbing my daughter's hand and twirling her around me, finding the lyrics of the song on my tongue. I felt myself smile, my heart beat, my lungs breathe in air, and it was good to be alive, in this place, in this moment, with these people.

Do I still feel sad? Sure, and I will probably grieve the loss of my cat like some people do the loss of a family member because for me he was. But life goes on and sometimes all you really need to get you moving again, get you out of your funk and remind you that you are okay, is a really good song.

My Lost Boy Goes Home

I said my final good-bye today to my lost boy, my Nib. I named him Nib after one of the lost boys in Peter Pan .... after all, it seemed appropriate, as he came to us all those years ago when I still worked in the vet clinic, and he was found with no mother. A former client had come upon him and his two kitten siblings at the town dump, abandoned, and that was it. I fell in love.

He was dubbed "Twinkie" as a kitten, and considering how incredibly fat he became we probably should have stuck with that name. With his orange tabby coat he was the classic Garfield and as an adult we called him "Fat Boy" as often as Nib. Over his seven all to brief years with us he brought so much joy, love, stupidity, and laughter to this house that I could write twenty pages and not even scratch the surface. As a kitten he had a fondness for sleeping on my head at night (as his weight increased this became an obvious problem), he would greet you at the door like a dog, let you hold him like a baby, lay flat on his back so you could rub his very large belly, tuck his head under your chin in the evening when reclining on the couch, purring his loudest purr just so you could be absolutely sure you knew how content he really was, wrestle with his fellow cat friend, Mindy, attempt to trip Clay when lifting weights, and could always be counted on to keep you company in the bathroom.

Nib was also one of Isabelle's best friends. In the morning when she comes and lays in bed with me while Clay gets ready for work, Nib would join us in bed, but cuddle up and lay on Isabelle, her giggling and pushing her face into his. She would frequently lay with him on the living room floor using him as her pillow or brush him with his cat brush and they had a fondness for sitting together on Clay's chair, Nib in her lap while she watched her Saturday morning cartoons.

With his beautiful, loving heart it was so difficult to say farewell, but even more difficult to watch his steady decline over the last few days. Nib's sad start in life coupled with some poor genetics (he already outlived both his siblings) more then likely contributed to his on-going problems and the only outcome we could ultimately have.

Put simply I could not watch him suffer anymore, not when I could stop it, and not when he had loved me so much and so well. So, I stayed with him at the end and stroked and kissed his head and told him what a great boy he was and how much I loved him. And I said good-bye.

There are people who will not understand this grief, this heart-wrenching, sobbing grief, for what they see as a small, insignificant animal. For them I say, I am sorry. I am sorry, you have never known what it is like to be loved so fully by such an innocent creature or to make that connection, that bond with something not of your ilk. The truth is, you do not have to understand. My darling cat was a loving, beautiful soul and I will miss him terribly. Good-bye, my Nib.