Merry Christmas Dec, 10 2015

The Cat is Back
After some intensive work with a feline medium, I have been contacted
again by the Kenners, who seem to feel I have not as yet “lived up” to my
penance and should continue to act as their Christmas spirit scribe. I tried
to explain that it’s difficult to “live up” to much of anything, being dead…and a cat. They remain, as ever, unmoved.

So, what fun did you miss out on the past two years? Well, the pair of replacement cats still live. It’s a brother/sister tag team of feline annoyance that just love to awaken peaceful sleepers and drag slippers about the house and stalk the deadly and ever elusive common fly. Lesson to the Kenners: Sometimes in life, you trade down.

Over the past few years we saw Morgan emerge from elementary school where she learned viola and was deeply steeped in drama (no, not theater arts…little girl emotional). This year she began her life as a sixth grader in middle school. The drama has tapered off and she loves being a good student (made Honor Roll her first term). She very much enjoys having multiple teachers, experiencing older-kid freedoms, and creating some really fantastic digital art! Morgan never meets a stranger and her folks love that she always makes a point to include even those kids who struggle socially. Plus, that girl is the queen of the multi-taskers! She can listen to music, draw on her iPad, work on her homework, AND whip up a Top Ramen masterpiece all while watching Food Network! But then her parents walk in and tell her to turn it off and clean it all up. They’re cruel that way.

Joshua has dabbled in dating, attended Prom and Homecoming, found a new adventure learning ballroom dance, started volunteering twice a week at the Bishop’s Storehouse (think local Food Pantry), and is presently working to pass his driver’s permit test. As a senior in high school, Josh maintains good grades and is proud to be on the Honor Roll each semester. He loves playing community and church basketball and has become quite a good shot. Recently Josh started working out at the local rec center with his dad three times a week to build muscle, and as ever, he is a huge fan of NCIS and Doctor Who. Probably Joshua’s greatest accomplishment to date, however, was earning the rank of Eagle Scout last May. He poured his heart and soul into his Eagle Project collecting enough items and cash to create 40 hospital go-bags for parents of children with Spinal Muscular Atrophy (like his cousin Eli has). It was remarkable to see him stretch and grow through it all and he was thrilled to have so many friends and family members in attendance at his Court of Honor.

As for David, he misses me. In the wee small hours of the morning, about
2:00am, my counterfeit substitute slinks into his bedroom and promptly starts batting at his glasses on the nightstand. A man deeply attached to his spectacles, David lies awake and begrudgingly lets the cat outside…and misses my lazy I-don’t-do-Nature self every time! Who can blame him? He’s still working hard as a Sr. Software Engineer/Architect/Thingy at Wolters Kluwer. The company has sent him back and forth to NYC, Philadelphia (which is not spelled with two “l”s), Chicago, and California over the past few years. He’s learned not to tell his wife whenever he’s upgraded to Birst class while she’s home managing the usual chaos. Wise man. And as ever, David has spent a good deal of time in service to others over the past few years. He is quite gifted at seeing a need and rolling up his sleeves to pitch in and Bill it. Presently, he is serving in church as the secretary in the Elders Quorum and assistant coaching community basketball on both Morgan’s and Joshua’s teams.

Gwyneth received the dubious honor of becoming president of the elementary school PTA last school year.  As she participated in every event imaginable, she quickly grew to appreciate all who
are willing to give of their time in even a small way to help local school children. David and the kids always helped and supported whenever they could; picking up and delivering donations, working at book fairs, building a sound-proof, padded cell out back in preparation for her release from office. Good times. Additionally, Gwyneth was asked to head up the stake Road Show fall of 2014, which involved a number of
LDS congregations putting on shows around a united theme on a single night of fun. As luck would have it, that single night of fun coincided only too well with the school’s first book fair of the year, so that was super! Thankfully, she worked with some great people who made it all possible. This year Gwyneth is focusing on Joshua’s senior stuffs and Morgan’s middle school changes and the lengthy therapy sessions vital to an effective PTA detox. She still volunteers at the schools, but far and away prefers not being in charge!

Last summer the family drove up to eastern Washington to stay at Aunt Debbie’s vacation home on Lake Roosevelt for the first time. The trip was filled with Nature (though kept at a safe distance) and Gwyneth spent a good deal of the time reading all the Harry Potter books aloud to the family in an air-conditioned room with big windows overlooking the lake (and its Nature). At the end of their stay, Uncle Mike taught the children how to drive a motorboat filled with loved ones and nobody died. So, that was nice! Upon their return home, they discovered the cats had broken into both the food storage and David’s home office in some desperate attempt to whip up a rice and powdered milk dish while emailing celebs like Grumpy Cat and Puss in Boots, and setting up their own Facebook Fan Page. Needless to say, they quickly discovered that typing without opposable thumbs is NOT for amateurs (and I assure
you THEY are amateurs)!

In other news, one of the front yard pine trees took a header during a microburst of wind last summer.
There was some speculation that it had committed suicide, but as it failed to leave a note, we may never know. In any event, the Kenners were blessed with some wonderful neighbors who came out en masse to help chop up the evergreen and hall it off to the landfill.

Additionally, Joshua became a short-term father last year when his class at school sent him home with a robot baby for the weekend. He named the child “Baby Dan” after our good friend back in Oklahoma, and Josh really had a great time being a dad. I suspect that delighting in the joy of early parenthood is NOT the desired outcome of the assignment for young high schoolers, but leave it to Joshua to embrace the possibilities!

In closing, we wish for each of you peace in a turbulent world. Strive to be a helping hand rather than just another voice of complaint. Accentuate the positive and eliminate the negative as the old song goes. We wish you all a Warm and Wonderful Christmas Season and a Joyous New Year!

With All Our Love,
The Cat & The Kenners
(Murgatroid R.I.P., David, Gwyneth, Joshua, & Morgan…and the living cats, too, I suppose…though they did NOTHING to help write this!)
Carnivorous Bunnies to You!  2

There Was A Young Lady Who Swallowed a Fly

While walking into gym class in the fourth grade I swallowed a fly.  Perhaps the fly was seeking shelter when he flew straight into the moist warmth of my open maw.  Perhaps he was fleeing a predator, seeking a safe haven and a moment’s rest from pursuit.  Or perhaps flying into open mouths was the sort of thrill-seeking dynamic young flies were into back in the 70s.  Whatever the motivation, things took a turn for the worse as my jaws clanged shut from shock and my auto-swallow engaged before my gag reflux could save the day and free the fly.  In the end, for whatever reason, or by whatever design, I swallowed a fly that warm spring day and in so doing tainted my reputation for life.

I went to a number of schools following that fourth grade year, both public and private.  Throughout my subsequent elementary and secondary education, though we continued to live in the same house, I did not attend any school more than two years consecutively.  I used to tell people I had multiple-schoolosis (but it just confused them and they proceeded to look at me with sympathy and ask if I needed to sit down, so I stopped).  As such, those children who were witness to the fly kafuffle were left behind and I began to concentrate on my studies and social life free from the buzzing specter of the rogue fly’s dark digestive demise.

Ours was a two-year high school to which all the town’s teens swarmed.  Kids I hadn’t seen in years were reunited that fall in a maze of lockers, hallways, classrooms, and buildings.  Passing periods were abuzz with long-time-no-see greeting exchanges as old acquaintances were renewed.  My eyes rolled as I swatted away too many unwanted inquiries/accusations, “Hey! Weren’t you the girl who swallowed the fly?”  Admittedly it was demoralizing to no small degree that my close encounter of the fly kind was the lasting impression I had made upon my former classmates.  Even my highly publicized melee with Kelly Blackwell the Human Wall paled by comparison.  Was I doomed to live on in infamy as a wonton swallower of flies?

Following graduation I flew to Los Angeles to attend university.  A few years later I volunteered to serve as a welfare missionary in a small island nation deeply steeped in poverty.  Later, I completed my Bachelors of English, ultimately marrying and starting a family.  The years passed.  I had grown from mere larvae to mature adult, gaining knowledge and perspective in life.  I was becoming a better rounded more complete me.  I was no longer a child, but a woman; self-confident, happy with my life, working on any number of projects and activities.  Fourth grade was eons behind me when, while visiting my mother, I ran to the local grocery store for a few items and bumped into an old fourth grade acquaintance.  The recognition was immediate.  The woman’s words spewed forth before her brain could engage any sort of filter, “Hey, I know you! You’re that girl who swallowed the fly!"

Some people are remembered for their courage, some for their cowardice.  Some are remembered for their virtue, some for their vice.  As for me, I swallowed a fly.  And I don't know why I swallowed that fly, but the memory won't die.

Raccoon Correspondence

About 8 years ago the wooded area near my mother’s home was cleared to build a physicians office.  In so doing a number of woodland creatures were displaced and sought refuge elsewhere.  One fortunate pair of raccoons found their way into my mother’s attic (much to her chagrin).  After some days, my mother utilized a trap from the local shelter to capture the furry visitors and have them released into the wild.  Knowing the grateful nature of raccoons, I took it upon myself to act as scribe and sent my mother the following epistle on their behalf:

Kind Woman,

Thank you for assisting us in our relocation experience.  Your attic was a lovely way station on the long journey to our new home.  We found it warm and cozy and filled with a warm, pink substance that got caught in Wilhelmina’s eye and scratched her cornea.  We will, of course, be sending you the medical bill.  Nevertheless, we both had an enjoyable time in your attic.  Just a thought, you might want to run cable up there--it can get so lonesome on a quiet autumn evening.  Nothing makes a creature feel at home quite like an hour or two of animal planet…unless they’re playing a shark documentary, those are quite alarming.

Our new home in the forest is very quaint, though it lacks certain amenities as well.  I took the liberty of lifting some of the reading material I found in one of your boxes. Wilhelmina and I spend long nights in the branches reading aloud to one another.  I’m almost embarrassed to admit that Wilhelmina also helped herself to a few Barbie dolls to pass the time.  It has been quite amusing this Halloween season to rip their heads off, ferret them away in the squirrels’ stash, and then sit back and listen for those furry little busybodies to discover.  How we chuckle at their startled screams of horror.

I hope you don’t mind, but we have passed your address on to a few of our closest friends and relations.  You seemed so open to lending us shelter, we were certain you would be as hospitable to those who follow.  It should be a simpler matter now that we have established a sewage locale and lovemaking salon.  We figure with the kind of space you’ve got up there, you could host any number of hibernators as well as the passers by.  Someone will, of course, need to widen the sewage area, but it will be a simple enough matter.  Oh, and again, don’t forget the cable.

Well, I must away.  It seems Wilhelmina has a Barbie hand stuck in her throat.  She’s a sweet creature, but not particularly bright.  Thank you again for all your help.  Feel free to post this in the attic so others will know the forest is near.  Oh, and one last thing, we feel the transport cage is a bit primitive.  Perhaps a catamaran, or some sort of silk lined pallet might make a more comfortable mode of transportation...just a thought.

Affectionately,

Bendelbaum G. Coon and

Wilhelmina Vanderbilt Coon

Aging

If you want a perspective shift while in the prime of your life you have two choices.  You can enjoy a situation in which you stare Death in the face, which is something of a gamble since you’re not guaranteed to survive long enough to enjoy your new perspective.  Or, you can watch a slide presentation of the elderly people presently in your life, as they appeared when they were your age. Last night I did the latter.

Watching the pictures of my husband’s side of the family when they were in their 20s, 30s, & 40s was fascinating.  Here are men and women whom I’ve known for 20 years.  They are all a minimum of 20 years my senior, and the majority of them are significantly more so.  They haven’t exactly joined the ranks of Methuselah…okay well yes in all honesty most of them have been targeted by Wilford Brimley and the folks down at the AARP.  Years from when all those pictures were taken, they are now bumping their heads on the age ceiling as they purchase burial plots in advance, program home-health medical supply stores into their speed dial, and place dibbies on their adult care facility of choice.

But back in the day of disco and burgundy leisure suits; back when men and boys paired knee high sports socks and short-shorts with impunity; back when Farrah Fawcett’s famous flip ruled salon chairs the world over…back then our aging parents and grandparents looked uncannily like us.  They were caught in candid shots with young children hanging from their arms, posing on vacation at the Alamo, and snapped eating ice cream on a warmly familiar back porch.  They lacked the tell-tail signs of the age they now wear proudly: no crow’s feet around the eyes from the years of laughter; no worry lines laddering up their brows thanks to raising teenagers, paying mortgages, & making weighty decisions they feared would define them for better or for worse; and no shorter stature born of decades carrying upon their shoulders the weight of their own worlds.

As the slides progressed I looked at my own children: my 8 yr old daughter laying on the floor repeatedly informing us she was bored, my 13 yr old son straining to recognize his late grandmother’s beloved face in the younger, plumper version of herself on the screen.  I knew they would one day sit where I was and feel what I felt.  One day (though certainly not last night) they will sit captivated by pictures of us and their aunts and uncles, and realize we were once young and we had our time as they will have theirs; realize we all share life in common with its joys and sorrows and day-to-day living that seems mundane, stressful, and comfortable all at once; realize this physical life ends for each of us, but family goes on.  And family is the why behind it all.

Athletically Me

Of the many adjectives that describe me, “athletic” is simply not among them.  Perhaps that’s because my career as a figure skater was cut short when we learned, five minutes into my first (and last) ice skating lesson, that some sense of balance was required to stay upright.  Perhaps it’s because my 6-week career as a junior bowler was commemorated by a little wooden bowling pin displaying my overall average of 65.  Or perhaps it’s because my signature basketball move as a teenager was throwing my hands up over my head for protection in any and all potential rebounding situations, because who wants to be hit in the head with a flying basketball?  Whatever the reasons, I have spent a life far from rinks, courts, and fields.  But now that I have children of my own, I have decided that it is high time I become a truly dedicated athletic supporter!

Tonight my daughter runs up and down the community center basketball court, her ponytails askew and flying in the wind.  Every so often during the fast-paced game she struggles with the duality of her girly- and athletic-sides, pausing to tend to her nails halfway to the basket.  During the fourth quarter her eager pace is waylaid by yawning, which she later explains is due to “utter exhaustion.”  I suppose two 6-minute quarters a week will do that to an 8 yr old.  She’s a pretty good dribbler, a skill she gets from her dad.  When I ask her why she doesn’t get under the basket to rebound the ball she responds, “If I’m under the basket, Mom, then the ball might hit me in the head!”  She gets her higher order reasoning skills from me.

Tomorrow night it’s my son’s turn on the court.  At 7:45 we will be sitting in the stands on the opposite end of the court from the team as I desperately signal to him that his jersey is on backwards…again.  Unlike his sister, the boy will wisely pace himself as he embarks on his multiple migrations between baskets.  He is a competent shot when he gets the ball during a practice session.  With an audience, however, his enthusiasm gives way to the ill-conceived showmanship so common among teens.  Last week one kid performed a Cantilever into an Axel Jump finishing with a Camel Spin while shooting the ball.  It was a thing of beauty until the ball came down 6 ft from the basket into the waiting hands of the opposing team…my son was right next to the rebounder with his arms thrown over his head for protection.  Go figure.

Still, we have fun cheering loudly for our kids’ teams and politely for the opposing teams.  We enjoy watching our children participate, hoping for that cinema-worthy play that will excite and encourage them to work harder and practice more and be their best selves.  We teach them to be gracious winners and gracious second-placers.  And as we sit on the bleachers at the end of the court watching the players barreling down toward the basket above us, I keep my hands ready to throw over my head, because, despite my love for and support of my children’s athletic pursuits, I still don’t want to be hit in the head with a flying basketball.

A Cool Fool Totally Rules

As a member of the human race, I am extremely cool.  I would give you a list of references to confirm this, but as my long-standing coolness is self-evident I think we can all agree that won’t be necessary.  Being inherently cool, I don’t mind occasionally making a complete fool of myself when the situation calls for it, because I have been taught by experience that there are certain special times in life when fool is cool.  And I was taught by one of the greats...

In my early-twenties I spent a year and a half in a third world country far away from everything I knew.  When I returned home eager to be reunited with the family I'd missed, my mother master-minded a landing party to greet me at the airport.  They awaited my arrival just outside security.  It was a high traffic, public place; a place in which my socially aware mother would typically be on her most appropriate behavior.  I walked down the terminal craning to catch a glimpse of the long unseen faces of my beloved family.  Rather, I was met by a small group of lunatics wearing gorilla masks.  I was deeply touched.  The security officers were deeply confused and likely debating the need for a body-cavity check while their newest officer was sent for a tranquilizer gun and a bunch of bananas.

Some years later, Christmas evening found me again in Oklahoma.  I was 4 months pregnant and not enjoying much.  Everything smelled funny.  I was constantly tired.  And, as it was the first Christmas following my dad’s passing, the holiday vibe was bittersweet in my childhood home.  Having dined on the obligatory bi-annual turkey, the combination of tryptophan and hormones left me lick-the-road-exhausted.  My husband and I sat lazily in the front room engaged in casual conversation with the siblings.  That’s when it happened.  My mother, having received a skin-tight screaming purple leotard from her deranged little sister as a yuletide gift, entered the room; her comfortably plump form clothed in the polished plumb one-piece.  It was brilliant!

Alas, there exists no photographic evidence of my mother’s Planet of the Apes homecoming, nor of her Purple People Eater impression that surreal Christmas night.  In fact, I’m willing to bet serious cash that the lilac leotard in question, long since off-loaded to an unsuspecting charity drive, has found its way into the hands of some less fortunate would-be modern dancer, beatnik poet, or base-jumper who today enjoys the supple support and amethyst stain of Lycra Gone Wild.  But the memories are still vivid in my mind and now preserved forever in my blog for the benefit of one and all.  And to you, Mom, I say Thank You…and, of course, You’re Welcome.

The Cookie Kunundrum

Achilles had his heel.  The Wicked Witch of the West had her ill-placed bucket of water.  Barney the dinosaur had his in-between meal child actor-snacks.  And I have my Crack-Whore Tollhouse Cookies.  To paraphrase Lucky the charming, cereal leprechaun, "They're free-baseably delicious!"  And never fear (or don't get excited as the case may be), I've added no recreational pharmaceuticals to the original Nestle's Tollhouse Cookie recipe.  I merely follow the instructions on the back of the chocolate chip package.  (I actually have it committed to memory now.)  This simple concoction manages to connect to the heart of the hungry hominid within, shaking her club in approval as she lets fly her primal "Yop" to the world.

Making healthy food choices is a daily battle for some of us.  Some days are more successful…and then there are all the other days.  The catch is not to let too many of those “other” days string together or you wind up in a real bind.  For example, you know you've been to the McDonald's drive-thru too frequently when the teenager who takes your payment says warmly, "Hey! How are you this morning!”  And you know it's not a simple case of an over-achiever jockeying for Employee of the Month when you respond with equal familiarity, swapping recipes and inviting him to your next family gathering.

Today I had consistent success in my food choices.  I reached for foods high in fiber, high in lean protein, low in refined sugars, and high in flavor.  Too often I become afraid of food when I'm trying to overhaul my eating habits.  It's like me against the Big Bad Creme Brulée, or me against the Wicked Weinerschnitzel of the West, or me against the Evil Stepmac&cheese.  (Now I'm getting hungry...dang it.)  When I'm afraid of food, I try to avoid it or eat it in the most stark and unfulfilling way possible so it doesn't get the upper hand.  Of course, then I just get hungry and jittery and paranoid: "Was that the Oreos talking about me behind my back?"  Then comes the avalanche of inhaling anything and everything within reach.  And if it's not within reach?  I will reach out and touch some-Wonderbread!

Tomorrow I have errands to run (definition: “wander through aimlessly taking at least one Diet Coke break”).  I plan to off-load the CWTH Cookies to friends, family, and total strangers holding cardboard signs: "Will Personal-Train for Cookies." This will enable me to avoid any gastronomic detour, which would leave me counting the beads on my candy Rosary (if I had one, which I don’t, since I’m not Catholic...and I'm guessing they don't make Rosaries in candy, which is probably wise).