Tag Archive | Topaz

Sunshine

I’m grateful today for another day of sunshine warming the house, charging the batteries, inviting me to take a couple of cat walks morning and afternoon. I’m grateful that Topaz trotted around beside me, and when I went farther than she wanted she simply voiced her objections loudly until I turned around. Her brother used to attack the back of my leg when I went too far for his taste. I’m grateful I can remember that with laughter now, instead of the dull ache of his absence. His was such a strong personality. Hers has always been more reserved, inscrutable… but we’re beginning to understand each other better now that we’re the only two mammals left in the house.

I’m grateful for the warmth of the sunroom these sunny days, so I can bask in there while enjoying morning coffee, writing, reading, or zoom meeting: The rest of the house is so cold without functioning floor heat, and I’m trying to conserve firewood, which is costlier and harder to come by than one might think, so I try not to build a fire until late afternoon. I’m especially grateful that Topaz has leapt the last hurdle in recovery from her catcussion. Six weeks to the day from her tumble, she has finally gotten back on the sunroom table. After she got up today I returned her favorite flat bed to its usual spot there, where she napped until sunset. The round felt bed she fell in will stay on the floor from now on. A couple of weeks ago I started tossing treats in there and she’ll dive halfway in to retrieve them, but she has yet to go completely inside, much less curl up in it.

What a long strange trip it’s been, for her after that bizarre injury, and for me, for all of us perhaps, in another revolution around the sun. Tomorrow is the shortest day of the year. I’ll be grateful Wednesday, when we’ll have six seconds more of sunshine than we did today. Thursday, we’re expecting snow for a few days, a white Christmas, and I’ll be grateful for that too.

Tracks in the Snow

I woke this morning after another dream in which Stellar (and Raven, too, this time) were eager for me to go for a walk. So I took Topaz out into the clear cold morning, whistled for the dogs, and set off into the woods traipsing over a light crust of snow. We skirted the does browsing around the house and went out the lion gate, then turned south where the snow was thinner. Neither of us had on the right shoes to go north. I’m grateful for a dream which motivates me to go for a walk, and for a cat who will accompany me.

Fox and fawn, I think…

There were lots of deer prints and trails through the shallow snow, a significant number of little cat tracks, and one stretch where a fox and a fawn followed the same course at different times. Lost in thought, I stepped through the tracks before noticing them, but stopped in time to take them in. In that pause, out in the quiet woods, a sudden sense of belonging swept through me. I wasn’t alone; there were many other creatures living here with me. I’m grateful for tracks in the snow, for the busy, hidden world of animal action they show happening all around and unconcerned with me.

How Many Things

I’m grateful for learning new things about familiar technology. This video shows up like it should, in a horizontal format, but in this rare instance I shot it vertically. Frustrated at its abbreviated appearance, I clicked around on the icons at the bottom, and discovered if you click the open box in the lower right it will play the video full screen and you can see it as shot. If you click on 1x, you can speed it up or slow it down, which is kind of fun. Escape key will bring you back to this page. Most of all, I’m grateful that my kitty is back to normal!

How many things am I grateful for today? Waking up alive to a mild sunny day: though I pine for moisture like all living things in this high desert, it gave me an opportunity to do more outdoor chores, like digging some baby bull thistles I discovered beyond the pond, and cutting back spent rabbitbrush blooms by the laundry line, so I could hang sheets without them collecting seeds. Grateful for sheets! And a bed, and a washing machine, and water.

I’m grateful for Garden Buddy bringing sweet ‘permanent’ flowers, and a tender moment with her setting them on Stellar’s grave; grateful all over again for her kindness on the day he died exactly one month ago. I’m grateful that the pain abates a little bit more each day. I’m grateful for a relatively painless body, too, these past few days after a rough few months. Grateful for meditation, Telesangha, mindfulness, friends, laughter, and good food.

For lunch I used the last of Stellar’s ground turkey from the freezer, cabbage, a shallot, ginger, and a garden carrot to make filling for egg rolls, then deep fried them, and served them to myself with Hoisin sauce and mustard. I’m grateful they held together and tasted pretty good for my first attempt. For dinner I roasted a garden butternut squash, opened a can of last year’s tomatoes, chopped an onion and some mushrooms, threw in garlic, ginger, spices, and a jar of stock I froze after cooking the last chicken, to make a hearty one-of-a-kind soup.

And finally, I’m grateful for an astonishing assortment of movies available to stream right into my living room. I’m grateful that after reading a friend’s review of “The Power of the Dog,” I tried the movie and had the good sense to quit watching when Benedict Cumberbatch started punching a horse in the face. I’m grateful I was encouraged to watch “The Starling” last night, and that tonight I took time to explore several previews until I settled upon this adorable Swedish gem, “Dancing Queens.”

Nine Lives

I’m grateful that cats have nine lives. Ojo burned through his pretty fast, but at six-and-a-half, Topaz may have used up only three or four of hers. I’m grateful that she is almost back to normal after her catastrophic tumble a few weeks ago. The past couple of mornings she’s gone for a short walk with me in the woods, and I was thrilled to see her lay back her ears and run to catch up and keep on running past me. That’s when I knew she was… well, out of the woods. She’s still a little bit extra spooky, but more like herself each passing day.

Topaz relaxes at home a couple of days after her miraculous return.

She used up at least one of her lives when she got kidnapped right before the pandemic started. We figure she may have lost one or two more during the month she was missing, living all alone in late winter over in the wilds around Buckskin Pass, surviving on what she could catch and possibly stolen kibble from nearby farms.

Topaz helping me harvest apricots the summer before last; we were grateful for a mountainous crop that year.
Every girl loves a little bling. I’m grateful for this sweet necklace and the dear friend who gave it to me, and so is Topaz. I’m grateful for my one remaining little fur friend.

Irony

I’m grateful today for the dried beans I harvested at the end of summer, just now all thoroughly desiccated and locked into storage. On the right are the rattlesnake pole beans, which I planted for their fresh (immature, they call them) string beans. On the left below are the scarlet runner beans, of which I grew only one plant, and only for the flowers for hummingbirds; the immature beanpods are not that tasty and they stick on you like a burr. And that little jar on top? That’s the only bean I planted with the intention of harvesting dry: the tepary beans.

I bought them elsewhere, but this native seed site offers a wide variety. I knew they were drought tolerant, but didn’t realize until I heard Lance talking about them on “As the Worm Turns” that they really prefer dryer soil. My mistake was giving them plenty of water. I’m grateful for the irony of overwatering beans in a drought year: I have learned a valuable lesson in water conservation. I’m optimistic that next season I’ll pick the right time and place to plant them, and be able to harvest more than just one bowl of chili’s worth.

I’m grateful for my little helper as I continued to put the garden to bed this afternoon; grateful to have time and energy on one of our last warm days to roll up some hoses and tuck storage tubs and tools under shed roofs before the snow flies.

Joy and Sorrow

I was awakened this morning by a soft kangaroo kick in my face, two little furry-toed feet practically in my mouth as Topaz stretched out on her back alongside me. I’m grateful for the little purrball snuggling in the morning. She’s still not quite right in the head, and we may go get her eyes and ears examined next week in Montrose, as none of those seem to be functioning the way they should. But she’s otherwise almost back to normal, and I’m grateful for that.

So simple, so delicious: a homemade roll toasted, slathered with mayo and Swiss cheese and broiled briefly, then topped with homemade bread&butter pickles. I’m grateful for lunch, and especially for ‘the cheese sandwich.’

I’m grateful for the delightful diversion provided by this charming puzzle full of exquisite detail both in the artwork and in the laser cut. I used to enjoy doing these puzzles with other people sometimes, before the pandemic. It’s an intimate act to sit heads bent close over a puzzle table, singing along to music or chatting amiably, passing each other pieces that fit with the different sections we’re working, cheering each other on. I also used to enjoy doing them alone, so I’m grateful that my pleasure hasn’t been diminished with my cautious solitude.

I learned recently of several more Covid infections in vaccinated friends, so I’m even more grateful for getting the booster. I watched with deep emotion the trailer for the new documentary “The First Wave.” As a culture, perhaps as a species, we are about to drop all precautions and pretend that this ongoing pandemic isn’t happening, despite the evidence of what we see and know. Why? Because we’re tired of it; we want to get back to normal. Like that’s ever gonna happen. This stunning film chronicles four early months in 2020, and filmmaker Matthew Heineman told The Guardian, “One of the greatest tragedies of Covid is that we as a general public were so shielded from the realities of what was happening…. If it was easier for journalists and film-makers to get inside hospitals and to show the public how this was all actually going down, how people were dying and the horror of what was happening, I think it would have changed the narrative…. It saddens me that this issue that could have brought our country together further divided us, that truth and science became politicised.”

And for a refreshing change of pace, because we must also experience joy as well as outrage, check out the Comedy Wildlife Photography Awards from NPR, guaranteed to put a smile on your face. My favorite is the “Majestic and Graceful Bald Eagle.” Maybe. I’m grateful for Kathleen for many reasons, including finding this in my inbox this morning.

Solitude

Tableau: Resilience

I pay a lot of lip service to solitude. But it hasn’t really been solitude all these years, it’s been the absence of live-in human companionship. There has always been a strong dog presence in my home, for 38 of the past 40 years, and those two dogless years were back in my 20s. Now I am without a dog again, and living alone, truly alone, because you can’t really count an aloof cat and a hibernating tortoise. It is cold comfort that I have no regrets about euthanizing Stellar when I finally chose to: I’m still alone. But, the truth is, I am always alone, no matter what connections I recognize; we are all always, ultimately, alone. So I’m grateful for the capacity for solitude, and for the opportunity to explore it in more depth than I have for the past forty years, with gentle curiosity and self-compassion.

Grateful for whimsy and imagination

Here I am doing a beautiful Liberty Puzzle, and thinking of Auntie, who introduced me to the joy of these remarkable functional artworks; very aware of her absence. Listening to Eva Cassidy crooning Songbird, keenly aware of her premature death. Hearing the absence of Stellar’s every breath. So much loss! It’s only human. And it’s human also to continue to find joy, delight, and contentment in the unutterable beauty of this fragile life, and to feel gratitude for each and every day.

Progress this morning…
…delight in the whimsy pieces…
…and after a full day of connecting with friends and family, working in the yard, tending the house, and self-care, the puzzle at bedtime. Each piece placed a tiny moment of satisfaction, the unfolding process of puzzling a meditation in its own right.

How Much I Learned

Baby Stellar with Uncle Brick in 2008

At the risk of seeming maudlin I am remembering, reviewing, calling to mind the details of Stellar’s last days. How time lost its linearity. 

I shared my life with him. There is no one now to turn to and smile. I would finish writing a bit at the desk, and turn to him, and smile. Wanna go for a walk? I’d stoke the fire, close the glass stove doors, turn back to the living room and there he is watching me from his bed, and I smile. Sometimes I’d move on to my next step in the day, or the evening, or sometimes I’d drop to all fours, crawl to lie down beside him, stroke his luxurious living coat, and notice, really notice, the feel of his scruff, rolling the folds of his neck flesh in my fingers, his thick silky fur… the pliability of his white chest star… the specific warmth of the breath from his nostrils across my skin, the hairs on my own forearm… I savored every living moment with him. I’m grateful for how much I learned during this extended interaction, this meditation with death.

Stellar and Topaz, equals and skeptical friends, last March, when we were all still walking the driveway. Topaz continues to improve gradually.

I may have made mistakes, made some choices based on less than accurate understandings of reality, but I believe I did the best that I could: stretching, giving, surrendering, loving with less and less condition… What I did next always involved him, whatever choice I made, to go in or outside, a short or long walk, watch TV or read, what I ate sometimes, where I was at every waking instant always involved him. I’m grateful to be able to recall vividly now, because I paid attention at the time, how he slowly settled when I stroked his shoulder, his back, how he relaxed onto his side and lay down his sweet head; how I held those acupressure pulses in his feet til he stretched his back legs with a big sigh. Later, that last month, how it soothed him when I whispered the mantra. And my attention was riveted on him even in my sleep, waking and analyzing the slightest sound from downstairs. Living in dedication to him brought out the best in me. He made it easy to embody my highest values. He was an inspiration, a Buddha dog.

May Stellar enjoy positive conditions,

High rebirth, happiness and peace,

May he meet the perfect teacher,

And quickly attain perfect enlightenment

For the benefit of all living beings without exception.

Another Day

I’m grateful for these spectacular flowers whose delivery midday from the Paonia florist startled me. My cousins in Charleston sent them in hopes they “might make you smile and know you are loved,” which they certainly do. I’m grateful for the love that keeps pouring in from friends and relations these past few days, soothing my sorrow, making me smile, reminding me that I am loved. I’m grateful to remember that everything changes, that this loss will soften over time. I’m grateful for ongoing support, and grateful for the opportunity to help a neighbor. I’m grateful for a long, close talk with my dear friend whose dear mother also died last week.

Topaz as a kitten in the bathroom sink.

I’m grateful that little Topaz seems much improved this evening. Her pupils have unfrozen, and she’s moving at a more natural pace, though still seems to be investigating everything as if seeing it for the first time. I’m grateful for rain, and homemade vichyssoise, and roasted root vegetables. I’m grateful for another day of living, feeling a rich range of sensations and emotions, joy and sadness, empathy and wonder. I’m grateful for memories, and for not clinging to them; grateful for letting things arise, and letting things go.

Stellar one year ago, looking kind of silly.

A Live Cat

I’m grateful for cactus blossoms indoors. I’m grateful that Topaz is alive after a complicated tumble, though she may have suffered a concussion. If it’s not one thing, it’s another… so went the joke while I was ‘growing up.’ Now, grown up, it doesn’t seem so funny, yet sometimes you just have to chuckle.

Yesterday evening she took a complicated spill from the sunroom table in her felt nest bed, and she hasn’t been quite right since. First, hiding upstairs. Not coming for treats. Staying way too still. Then, this morning, slow-motion creeping down the stairs one at a time, tiptoeing, as if feeling her way. It occurred to me she couldn’t see. Her eyes didn’t track the vet’s fingers, nor blink as I thought they should, nor her pupils contract with his flashlight. Yet when he put her on the floor and nudged her to walk, she leapt with certainty to the high silver table, landing like a feather. This impressed him and seemed diagnostic: to do that she must be fine. I thought, Maybe she’s not dying, but she could do that blindfolded. Her carrier was up there, the smell of it, the hard edge of the table. She could be less than blind and very compromised, and still make that leap.

Anyway, he let her go with a steroid shot and an oral antibiotic and instructions for me to give her pills for 3 days. That’ll be a trial. Or, at least, that’s my expectation. She could surprise me and be docile. Then the car battery was dead. There was someone there to give me a jump. I was grateful. Then I left the clinic, after waiting in the claustrophobic exam room for 45 minutes, in a pandemic, in the county in the state with the worst infection rate, in a state with the most increasing cases in the nation. The wise thing to do for myself and my cat was walk out unattended.

Then the car battery was dead. There was someone to give me a jump. I was grateful. I hightailed it home, surrendered. Grateful for a live cat, a live battery, getting home, kindling already split, a hot shower, soft pants, a warm fire, a zoom meeting, a single ice-cold martini. Accepting what is. Get me to my bed on time! If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Or so it seemed in that moment, that refractory period where emotions cloud perspective. Remember yesterday, and the cosmos? Chill out.