Spring is on its way

Or I'm hoping to see spring soon. After a few decades in Atlanta, I'm ready to start in the garden. However, it's still a bit cool.

Sought out a nursery this weekend to help with planning the backyard. The yard is a small square space with too much cracked and messy concrete that simply has to go. And no color, making it especially drab in the winter. The other half feels that we should populate it with native plants and while I don't oppose that, it may prove difficult. The nursery didn't carry too many native plants. I stopped off at Lowe's today at lunch time and they didn't carry too many native items either.

Nevertheless, we purchased a few packs of pansies to put in the flower pots at the front door, that previously held dead, colorless plantings from the prior season. We also picked up a very bright blue ceramic bird bath now standing in the middle of the yard.

Relocation

Moving day was Tuesday. I prepared by traveling to Atlanta on Saturday and spent the rest of the day and Sunday looking through the excess of belongings with Noel and deciding what should stay and what should go to Goodwill. We filled too many trash bags with stuff. I'd always thought that we weren't avid consumers; how do we then accumulate so much stuff?

Monday was packing day. Two packers arrived at 830a and worked until 7p, with only a short break. At the end of the day, our lives were in boxes. There was no tv, no clock to tell time, no lamps (certainly none with light bulbs). By 830, we were in bed; Noel sleeping and me trying to read. After attempting to read with one eye open and not remembering all the words, I too gave in and went to sleep.

Three o'clock in the morning and we're both up. Cleaning out the refrigerator, actually throwing out the partially used containers of everything. A stick and a half of butter, wasted in the trash. Soda cans for my brother. Boca burgers for mom. Unhooked the washer, dryer, water line to the refrigerator. Pacing around the house, waiting for the movers. They finally arrived at 10a and moved everything out until 530p. I followed with broom and vacuum. Noel left after lunch with a car loaded with everything the movers wouldn't take. Mom showed up at 3p to pick me up and had to wait on the remaining chair in a VERY cold house. We checked everything multiple times to be sure nothing was left that shouldn't be there. Yes, the metal ladder that we really don't care for did go. The driver told me that Mr. Noel told her it stayed, but I told her that I think we'd better take it just in case.

Mom baked some fish and vegetables and we were off to bed by 9. I have no memories until 6 the following morning.

After a doctor's appointment with Mom in the morning, we were off to the airport. Twenty one years in Atlanta ended officially today.

Left behind are many memories. Boxes of pictures. My growing up as an adult happened there and I'll miss the memories of friends and former colleagues. I'll miss the mild winter, the great long fall season and my wonderful gardens. My mother and our wonderful neighbor. I'm glad to leave behind the virulent anti-gay attitudes, intolerant baptists and other fringe religious zealots. This is a state that wasted time, effort and tax dollars on an anti-gay marriage amendment to the state constitution. A drastic step for no purpose. After years of anti-gay resolutions, laws, disregard for gay person's rights and wills, the amendment did it to me. Too many years of paying too much in taxes for that personal abuse by the state. It's over. No more taxes to an unfriendly place.

Aftermath

I woke several times in the middle of the night. No one came to greet me when I stirred or to rub my face with hers.

When the alarm went off at 5 am, no one jumped up and began purring at me and rubbing me to welcome the new day. No one joined me in the bathroom while I shaved and got myself ready to leave for the gym.

All was quiet. There is a large void from the absence of our 10 pound feline friend. It's clear that her personality and attitude filled the rooms at the apartment. Now it seems so empty.

I'd placed newspapers around in the event she had an accident when I was away or not watching. An added benefit was that she enjoyed reclining on newspapers. Most Sundays I'd read the paper on the floor or the bed and she'd join me by settling onto the page I was most interested in at the moment. I picked all of them up and put them on the recycling pile. I cleaned up the makeshift bed that I'd put together for her near her food and water dishes. I emptied the water but haven't yet been able to empty the food dish. It remains in its usual place. Her treats on the kitchen floor that she didn't get a chance to have on Saturday are still there as well.

No one greeted me this evening upon coming home from work. No one shared morsels from my plate. Right now, it's about time to turn in for the day. If she were here, she'd be reminding me that it's time to go now.

Samantha, 1992-2008

Samantha left us this afternoon.

Saturday and Sunday night she was unable to sleep and was dragging herself around the apartment. Several times throughout the night, I woke to search for her. Found her lying in the middle of the floor and she greeted me with her questioning sound when I happened on her; found her wedged behind the computer table; found her under a chair. Each time I picked her up, I brought her to bed to rest beside me for a while. After twenty minutes or so she was off, dragging herself across the floor to another spot. She would linger in one place for five or ten minutes, then onto the next spot. Continually restless.

I passed on going to the gym this morning before work and stayed at home. I made a bed area for her on the floor with her food and water, a worn shirt of mine and Noel's, and placed a suitcase and other objects around so that she'd stay in the area and not hurt herself.

She hadn't been drinking, but with a straw she allowed me to give her a drink. She tried to eat one of her treats, but it was too difficult and she gave up.

After a tearful goodbye, I went to work. I called a friend, Kath, and left her a message that I thought Samantha was dying and I needed to talk. She called me back and my emotions got the best of me. She told me not to give up yet and that if Samantha was fighting, we should give her the best opportunity to do so. She found a vet, made an appointment for me and told me to go home and take her to the vet.

I got home and found her lying on the living room floor. She called for me when I walked into the room. She managed to get out of her padded area and crossed the living room. I picked up her weak body, laid her on a towel and took her to the car. She talked off and on the whole way. She laid on the car seat and whenever I was silent, she called for me until I told her I was there.

We found the vet's office and I carried her in--she gripping my wrist with her right paw and periodically trying to rub her nose and cheek on my hand. Patrons in the vets office were intrigued by her. "She's so good, you don't need a carrier to bring her here!"

"She's very sick," I said. "Otherwise she'd be stressed and have to be in her carrier."

The vet was very gentle, empathetic and concerned about her. Aging cats often have kidney problems, so we had blood tests run. Blood tests were normal. She suggested an x-ray to see if she had any tumors. X-rays didn't reveal anything. Perhaps she has an infection. She received an anti-inflammatory and an antibiotic and some fluids to rehydrate her.

While waiting for her, another friend, Mark, called and said that Kath let him know what was happening. We chatted about Samantha and her symptoms and in a few moments Samantha was delivered from her treatments, so I excused myself to hurry her home.

She was more alert and relaxed afterwards, although still weak. On the way home I kept my one hand on her all the way and she talked all the way home. Once I brought her in and laid her down, she fell asleep.

After a good rest this afternoon, she left us.

Thank you, Samantha, for sharing your life with us. We'll miss you.

Aging

Eleven years ago next month we visited the Cobb Animal Shelter and a black tortoise shell 5 year old cat named Samantha put the sales charm on me and within an hour she was in a box in the car going home.

Getting close to our eleventh year together, you always know that once they get into the teens, they may not be with you much longer; but as long as things seem to be going well with their health, you always look ahead into the future and you see them there with you.

The year 2007 began with her annual check up in January and the vet remarking on how good she looks; appears younger than her years! In the spring I accepted a job here in Philadelphia and several weeks after that Noel drove her up to stay with me--for her, a long day in the car of crying and car sickness.

As she always does, she took on the role of looking out for me, keeping track of my whereabouts and learning my new routines. About an hour before bedtime each evening, she begins coaxing me to the bedroom. When I arrive home from the office, she greets me at the door. Wherever I'm located at in the apartment, she's right near by, always aware of my activities.

During the summer, I noticed her eating habits change. She began eating much less (she'd always eaten well) and lost a little bit of weight. She'd been on diet food for years, so I began feeding her the higher calorie foods she used to like before the diet days. She'd attack the new with vigor and then it would trail off. So I'd try something new with a similar reaction.

One evening in October I came home from the office and wasn't greeted at the door. I found her in the bedroom staring blankly at the wall. Her eyes were dialated....she'd come down with cataracts and they'd clouded over completely. Her vision had been declining for years. For several days she moved around very little. I began coming home at lunch time to check up on her and make sure she was eating and that all was fine with her. After about a week of low activity, one lunch hour I came home to find her walking the apartment with her face against the walls. She was mapping out the apartment--the walls, doorways and locations of everything...bathroom, kitchen, her food, etc.

Since that time, her activity levels were pretty normal. If she loses track of me, she calls until I let her know where I'm located in the apartment. While she doesn't meet me at the door any longer, she waits for me on the bed because she knows that I drop off my belongings there when I walk in every evening. When she hears me, she loudly makes a sound that can only be described as a question mark put to sound.

Even without vision, she knows the time of day when things should happen. She still coaxes me to bed just before it's time.

On Friday I came home from the office and found that she'd vomited a great deal near the front door. I found her crouched in the bedroom staring strangely. I fed her some treats and she ate them willingly, but the treats came back up shortly thereafter. Even a drink of water came back up. Her soft food treat that she looks for every evening didn't stay down. She was the same in the morning, and getting weaker. She had an accident on the way to her litter box. I called a vet with a cat specialty and he couldn't see her. I found another vet who determined she had gastroenteritis and sent me off with some prescriptions. She refuses to take any of the prescriptions and isn't eating.

She drinks water regularly. Her food was tinkered with during the night, but I don't think was eaten. I'd picked up some wet food with a gravy and she's licked up the gravy but hasn't eaten a thing. And she's weaker yet than yesterday.

Our Atlanta home was sold and we'll be moving here officially in two weeks to a new house from this apartment. I was expecting she'd join us there but fear that may not happen. I've been holding her as much as I can, just as she's always been by my side when I was feeling ill or simply unhappy. If I step away for too long, she finds me. She's laying beside the chair as I write. Always my buddy.

A Sunday Afternoon

The weather report indicated a threat of rain both here and at the beach. In fact, the beach report said rain likely from 10 to 4 or so; clouds or rains would ruin a day trip there. I settled on a trip to a nearby Unitarian congregation in the late morning. On the way in, feeling late, a man introduced himself as Ken and I exchanged greetings hurriedly. Not until I was on my way in did I realize he was the minister. If he wasn’t late, well, then surely I shouldn’t feel that way either! The church inhabits a 1920’s era building with copious period stained glass in vivid blues and reds with lots of structural wood beams and paneling. A greeter bid me good morning and offered a program with many flyers advertising a variety of church activities. While waiting I learned of a craft show, the legendary pumpkin carving contest and other activities.

I took a seat in the back third of the church with a hymnal handy. The service started with a gentleman reading several announcements from a lectern at the altar. Following him, a gentle lady, Linda, called all to order and asked everyone to greet each other and offer peace. En masse, congregants stood and a cacophony of greetings, hugs and chatter permeated the facility, creating quite a lively image. After several minutes, Linda, who’d joined the crowd, hurried back to the lectern and tried, at first unsuccessfully, to bring order back to the congregation. Her voice becoming more stern, folks eventually, almost with a certain reluctance, made their way back to their respective pews and gave their attention to the front in silence.

Once the order of the service was underway, a good number of congregants, running late, came tiptoeing into the back and a group of three (that were together) sat to my right. When it came time to sing hymns, the fellow next to me at first fumbled with finding the number in his book. I held mine in his direction and he smiled and looked on with mine. By the third hymn, he didn’t bother trying to find it in his, but just joined me by looking on with mine.

After the service, I stayed seated for a while and was approached by Jack. He’d asked me if I was a visitor and then we chatted about the church building, its age and the over 150 year congregation. He said that Unitarians, descended from the early congregational churches that were chiefly Christian, had evolved to welcome people of all levels of belief from atheists and agnostics, Jews, Christians and Buddhists like himself. He found the combination created an interesting dynamic that sometimes put groups of congregants at odds with one another at times, yet manage to hold together because of a set of core beliefs.

Once Jack bid his farewell and extended an invitation to have coffee in the garden behind the church, I lingered for a time in the lobby looking at a variety of fliers and notices and then made my way to the parking lot, passing through the coffee area outside and offering greetings to several people along the way. Several cars in the parking lot sported anti-war bumper stickers and other liberal-leaning sayings. A definitely more comfortable environment than I’d lived in for so many years.

Returning to the apartment, I struggled with the best way to spend the afternoon. No sight of rain or clouds and temperatures in the eighties. After some reading and web browsing, I decided to find an ice cream parlor in Chestnut Hill that I’d passed in the car in my wanderings and been tempted by in the past.

Just into Chestnut Hill on Germantown Road, the police had erected blockades and suddenly traffic began to crawl. Cars were parked tightly on both sides of the street and also on the side streets we were forced to turn onto. I turned left and took a parking space that another car had just vacated and walked down to Germantown Road to see that an Arts Festival was underway.

In close quarters with others, I strolled past a band with a woman guitarist and vocalist filling the air with music; an elderly gentleman dancing in front of the musicians, people eating from various food stands, vendors with artsy wares, a table selling pretzels and water benefiting a local school, a medical table dispensing flu shots. I’d wanted one of those and with no money on me walked onward in search of my bank. Found the bank several blocks up. No ATM. I walked to the back passing a fried dough smell. People with funnels cakes were scurrying past. The ATM was in the back and, after inquiring on account balances (two households and a high monthly credit card bill are draining the available cash) I took out some cash and made my way back down the street. Moving slowly with the crowd, I passed Mario’s famous sausage and peppers, onions and mushroom sandwich sign. Have to get one of those later.

Eventually I made it to the flu shot table. I filled out the disclosure form, asked the cost (twenty-five dollars) and gave $40 to the woman behind the table. “Bet you didn’t know you were comin’ here for this today,“ she said. “Change,” she called out to the two women standing behind her, while the smiling man in nursing attire to my left asked me to sit down if I was ready. The woman asked me which arm and I felt that my left would be a good choice today.

“Roll up your sleeve. You might need to hold it up. You’ll feel one quick prick and before you know it, it’ll all be over.” A quick pinch, then success! “Good job,” I said.

Standing, without change yet, I walked back to the woman behind the table. “We’re working on it.” Turning away from me, she said, “we really to straighten that out. We have the change in there, you just haven’t been taking care of it right.” Frantically helping out her colleagues and then going through each other’s pockets and wallets, they came up with change.

Counting. A dollar short. More searching. Got it!

I was on my way down the street in search of the ice cream parlor. Toward the end of the blocked-off street was the parlor. A line. The woman in front of me, children in tow, says to them, “have we had any real food to eat yet today? What a long line!” They turned around and left. After waiting for a while....should it be Moose Tracks? Strawberry? Sundaes? The Fluffernutter was tempting given the marshmallow emphasis. No, too expensive. A scoop, more reasonable. “May I help you?” A young fellow was looking at me, waiting. “Butterscotch Vanilla,” I said. “A scoop.“

“A cup,“ he asked. I nodded. Grabbing a cup behind him, he hurried off. Returning in a moment, cup in hand, he said, “three fifteen.” I passed three to him and started digging in my pockets. Quarters. Ah, a dime. Seems like it’s taking a long time...ah, a nickel too. I handed them to him. He smiled, looked me over. Smiled again, with a lingering glance. I grabbed a few napkins from the holder on the counter, said thanks and stepped outside, cup and spoon in hand.

I found a piece of wall to lean on near a bench with several older ladies sitting with cones. A man with yarmulke looks inside, turns around and says to his very pregnant wife, “no tables inside.” A friend of theirs looks at me and says, “we’re trying to find a place to sit.” I motioned to the bench near me. They looked and then started walking. “Would you be okay sitting on the grass,” I heard as they walked down the street.

Finishing my generous scoop, the woman with children in tow stepped out of the bakery next door and all had some confection. One had an eclair, another a cake, and, while nibbling, were looking with wonder at the orange and black, pumpkin-shaped and Halloween-themed cakes in the window.

With a pre-meal dessert finished, I decided I’d eat here today and went in search of the table with pretzels and water. Kept walking....it didn’t seem like it was this far, but must’ve been! Finally. “Pretzels! Did you want to have a pretzel?”
I nodded. “Just take which ever one you want. It’s a dollar.” I handed him four quarters. There were two to a bag. Why not, I’ll take two. I checked the sign and it said two for a dollar. Save one for later or tomorrow. Eating one, I made my way up the street in search of the famous sausage sandwich.

A Subaru dealer with cars on the side of the street distracted me. “It’s getting near to closing time for this and the people keep coming,“ says one of the salesmen to his colleague. I wandered to the Outback, an outdoorsy wagon. Door was unlocked so I sat inside. Eyeglass holder, glove box, all panels with cubbies and doors gently open with a touch and close without a sound. Nice interior, moon roof even.
I stepped out and looked at the sticker. $25,995. Not too bad, I suppose. Gas mileage of 20 and 27. Now that could or should be higher. I walked around and opened the back hatch. There was a heavy duty rubberized floor mat covering the entire back that was removable. Nice touch. The bicycle would even fit back here, especially with the seat down. The hatch shuts gently and quietly. I picked up some Outback literature from a nearby table.

Continuing on my way, I found the sandwich booth and asked for the sausage, peppers, onions and mushroom sandwich. The woman behind the table turned to her right and asked for one from the baseball capped helper. She opened an Italian roll, put it in a plastic bowl, poured a healthy helping of the sausage concoction inside and handed it to me. “Three dollars,” as I handed it over. Grabbing napkins I went in search of a place to sit. Across the street was a raised brick walkway in front of a store where I settled down. Tried to lift the sandwich and couldn’t do it. Next to me sat a father and his daughter with the same thing, she struggling to bite the sandwich with messy success. He shouts across the street, presumably to his wife, “get a fork.” Back to the table in search of a fork.

Fork in hand and returning to my spot, I proceeded to eat the famous sausage sandwich. A couple strolling down the street with two small children stop just to my right while the woman makes a phone call. The children sit down next to me, playing with leaves. One lands on my shoe. The man says, “Ethan, don’t be bothering other people with stuff like that. Good boy.”

The father looked away and I handed Ethan the leaf. He pulled his arm and shoulder away from my direction....he sure didn’t want it from me!

I got up in search of a waste basket and spotted one behind the sausage sandwich booth. Pitching the bowl and fork, I proceeded down the street. Noticed the gentleman and his wife with little Ethan on the other side of the street, keeping the same pace with me down the left side of the street. Looking at the arts and crafts booths on my right, I made my way back. I turned at the band for the side street with my car’s resting place. The elderly gentleman was still dancing in front of the musicians. Looked at my watch and it was two hours since I’d last passed him.

Time

“It’s time to turn in,” E said . “Alright, I’m on my way,” said A, her spouse. “Good night, David, see you tomorrow. It’s so good to have you here,” she said as she gave me a good strong hug. She shuffled off to the master bedroom, adjacent to the living room, yawning as she went.

“So, how have you been,” E asked when we were alone, sitting on the couch opposite the one where I was perched.

“The job’s fine,” I responded, “not difficult; nothing that I can’t handle at this stage of my life.”

I talked about being closer to family and some friends that I grew up with. I told her that it was good that I’ve been able to stop by my father’s resting place and reflect; something I hadn’t been able to do in the past because I was so far away.

“The one thing that I know, is that I’ll never get over it, even after all these years. I get so emotional when I go there, as though I’m back there on the day of the funeral. Then I look at the date, his name and realize how long ago it was.”

“Why do you feel that way,” she asked. “I’ve been in therapy for years, maybe I can help you with it.”

“That‘s true,” I said, smiling. “But your relationship with your father was more complicated than mine was.”

“It was, that‘s part of why I was in therapy for so many years,” she replied, “but yours wasn‘t.”

“I don’t know, I suppose, because I never had a chance to say goodbye to him. That's the one thing I got to do with N's mother that I couldn't do with my father.”

“Well, you couldn’t, could you?”

“I should have known, should’ve known that he was near the end and made a point of getting my butt up there to see him one last time.”

“But you did get up there when you knew, right? I see this is difficult, let me come over and sit next to you. I can see you’re hurting , and I don’t want you to feel that way,” she said gently, as she joined me on the couch and took my hand.

“I still should have known, should have called more when he wasn’t well to know how he was doing so that I could be there.”

“You did what you could at the time. He wouldn’t want you to feel this way, would he?”

“No, he wouldn’t.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t feel that way.”

“It doesn’t make it go away, make me feel...”

“I realize that. Have you thought about writing down your feelings? I did that with my father after he was gone and it helped me out. Will you do that? Promise me that you’ll do that?”

“I know you’re right, it doesn't make it easy, though. But I’ll work on it.”

“No, really, you need to write it down. Promise me, please? I don’t want you to hurt forever over it.”

“I’ll do that, might take me awhile because it is hard, but I’ll try,” as I fought back tears once again.

We sat in silence for awhile, side by side. Me, in comfort, lots of emotion near the surface (trying to control, of course), a kind, caring friend holding my hand. After a short while, she spoke up.

“It’s getting late, let’s get off to sleep.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” I sighed.

I moved toward the stairs to go to the guest room, while she walked toward her room, looking back at me with a concerned smile.

“Good night. See you in the morning.”