Didja miss me?

In September my forty-year-old  faucets in the bathroom sink gave up the ghost.  They were leaking badly and they could no longer be repaired - they needed to be replaced.  

Ugly and crusty  (and covered in cat hair!).

A diligent search on eBay turned up the perfect new set at an even more perfect price; they were installed by my friend/handyman.  Look at that spout - it is so tall!  Sleek lever faucets - I am in love! Woo hoo - don't they look wonderful?

Shiny!

 

 

 

Of course after the installation of such glorious creations, I then found myself replacing the handles on the cabinet doors and another lengthy search on eBay turned up this gem: coke-bottle colored glass knob for the medicine/linen closet.

My precious!

Then the tub faucets began to misbehave and again I searched ebay, found a great new set, and these were also installed by the friend/handyman.  Last item needed was a new door knob - since the old dark brass one was becoming increasingly difficult to turn and I feared I would end up either locked in or out of the bathroom.  I found a lovely brushed chrome lever knob on eBay (where else?) and could not wait to install it!  I brought a couple of screw drivers into the bathroom, and set to work.  The old knob was one with hidden screws so it took a bit of research and two days of wrangling before I was finally able to get it to budge.  The metal had corroded over the years.  I was thrilled to finally remove all of the components.    By this time many of my tools had found their way into the bathroom.

Of course the new latch was larger than the old one so I had to play around with needle files and a keyhole saw to enlarge the hole.  I finally managed to install this latch, and thought I should check to make sure I had the latch facing in the correct direction.  

Ever suddenly come to the chilling realization that you should not have done something about a split-second after you do it?  I realized when I shut the door, sans knobs, that I might be in trouble.  I could not open the door.  I was locked in my own bathroom!  My phone was in the living room.  My exterior doors have triple locks.  No one has all the keys except me.  So even if I could phone someone, no one could get into the house - and even from the outside of the bathroom door - no knobs!

Let's see - I could climb onto the counter and squeeze through the window and fall eight feet down onto the ground (and probably break my arm or my ankle) - but then what good would that do?  I would be locked out of my house!  With a broken arm or a broken ankle. Yikes.  Alrighty then, what tools do I have?  I tried a small screwdriver but it was too thick to fit into the jamb to spring the latch.  I tried the keyhole saw - too thick.  Wait.  I know!  The hinges - I'll take the door off of its hinges!  Except they were rusted solid and the pins would not budge - even when I tried to hammer a needle file into the bottom.  

OK - I have water - no food - none of the cats are in here with me.  But there is catfood. I could eat catfood.  (Ugh!)  And the toilet - thank God!  I can pee if I have to.  Oh man, I gotta get outa this place!  Tools - tools!  What other tools do I have in here?  Aha! - a bucket of tools I was using in the shower stall to remove the caulking, grout, and tile.  Hmm.  What is this?  The dull plastic cutter, the one I was using to remove the caulking.  Nice hook on the end, though, and a thin blade - it just might fit....

Inserted it into the door jamb, gave it a twist - and voila!  I am free!  Thank you little plastic cutter!!!

Salvation!  Freedom!  Hallelujah!

The rest of the installation job went smoothly - and I am beyond pleased with my new lever door handles.  

Ain't it purty?

But it sure scares me to think what might have happened if I had not had any tools in there and locked myself in like that.  How long before anyone would have missed me?  My cats depend on me.  My cat people  depend on me.  Yikes.  

Tell ya one thing, I have oiled the hinges and I am keeping that little plastic cutter in the bathroom from now on!

More Kitten Camaraderie

Today is my second anniversary of discovering the Kitten Cam(s).  With six thousand other watchers all over the globe, I spent last evening fascinated and glued to the screen witnessing Mama Dorothy give birth to the six Kittens of Oz on foster mom Shelly's Tiny Kittens cam.  Dorothy was kicked out of her home after coming home pregnant and luckily found herself at Langley Animal Protection Services, LAPS, near Vancouver, British Columbia.  She hit the kitty lottery and ended up for the last several weeks growing huge and healthy in Shelly's care.  She is a tiny young first-time mother (and last-time, too!) and was exhausted and confused during the birthing process - without Shelly's tender ministrations the story may not have had such a happy ending/new beginning.

Shelly is orchestrating seating at the milk bar and feeding Mama Dorothy (talk about a lovin' spoonful!) in her nest.  One of the tiny kittens is really tiny so Shelly is supplementing her with formula, to jumpstart her interest in nursing.  Little by little the mothering instincts are kicking in and soon, with Shelly's skillful assistance, Dorothy will be a pro.The poor dear is plumb knackered (as is Shelly, who had been on active birth-watch for four days or more!  She has also been talking on camera for nearly all of this time and I just do not know how she does it.).

I am thinking a lot about my own semi-feral rescue kitty, Mama Lucy.  Although she managed to win the affection of a number of people in her neighborhood - some who made sure she had food when they discovered her pregnancy - when she gave birth to her six little boys, it was all alone and in the dark and on the packed dirt floor of a dusty crawl space.  It was also during the no-doubt frightful aural onslaught of Fourth of July fireworks.  Mama Lucy is a city kitty, but that racket must have been terrifying for her.  We will never know for sure - this litter may not have been her first.  By the time I met Mama Lucy her boys were five weeks old, they were fat and happy and she was giving them her all.  If she had experienced a retained placenta or tangled umbilical cords, kittens might have died.  She did not have the luxury of clean blankets, fresh towels, heated nests and the soothing voice and hands of the amazing Shelly (and all the unsung heroes of the rescue world).  Mama Lucy was fortunate to have found shelter.

Mama Lucy and her boys at 7 weeks of age

In my lifetime of living with cats, three have given birth in my own home and I have never learned so much about cats as I have from watching Kitten Cams.  Malaika gave birth to two kittens who suffered from congenital complications and died tragically, little Leela gave birth to a litter which included Shadow and Junior (Leela Junior)  and Junior gave birth to two litters, making Joker (from the May litter)  and Sunday (born one day after the rest of her September littermates) half-siblings.  All of these pregnancies were quite unplanned - this was the early eighties - spaying and neutering was not done as young as it is now. I remember my vet making me wait until a female was at least six months old.  Too late!  In those days it was easier to find homes for the kittens that I was not keeping as my friends were not all way over their limit of kitties. 

Right now in Seattle, another lucky mama-to-be kitty named Marge is awaiting the birth of her litter, which will go on to be raised by the inimitable Foster Dad John.  Marge and her kittens will move into FDJ's care as soon as mama kitty is comfortable.  In the last year John has raised and graduated several more litters of marvelous rockstar kittens and mamas into the world, and he broke all his own rules when he fell in love with one amazing little soul and adopted her into his own feline household.  If Kitten Cam kitties win the lottery, Trillian won the Powerball. 

In the last year Kitten Cam watchers have developed even closer bonds - we have supported each other through thick and thin, triumph and tragedy.  So far I have met one avid watcher in person and I am trying my darndest to talk myself into traveling to Seattle in May for the Kitten Cam Convention - me, the world's least likely traveler!  Will the Camaraderie of the Kitten Cams be enough to lure me out of my cave and onto an airplane?  Stay tuned....

Cake Two

I posted this story of the birthday cake a while back but now I have found the photo!  So here is the story again.

Dad and I arrived back home in Albion very late one evening – we had been out visiting hospitalized church members all the way over in Rochester. It was Dad’s birthday, October 13, and we had been gone all day – we had pretty much forgotten about celebrating.

We entered through the back door into an almost completely dark house (most unusual since my mother usually kept every light on in the place when she was alone). Mom was nowhere to be found but there, in the corner of the kitchen, on top of the chest freezer and illuminated by one gooseneck desk lamp, was a cake.

This was not just any cake. This cake had a rusty orange zinnia with a broken stem drooping off to one side of it. A large white candle kind of angled out of the cake like a cannon. The chocolate frosting was flecked with  cake crumbs; the frosting was all over the cake plate. There were little birthday candles stuck here and there into the cake’s frosting and we also found several egg shells and a couple of spoons wedged into this amazing creation. A few pieces of the cardboard cake mix box were also sticking out of the frosting.

Mom soon emerged from the darkened dining room and related the story of this cake. As usual, it was a layer cake that she had tried to bake. And as usual she had encountered problems removing the layers from the pans. When she had finally succeeded in prying the chunks of cake out of the pans, they really weren’t in “layers” anymore so she tried to “glue” everything back together with frosting. A few toothpicks inside to hold everything in place – voila!

Mom always had trouble with layer cakes because the layers never came out of the oven flat or even – they always dipped in one direction or the other – that is why she had to use toothpicks to hold the layers together. It was many, many years later that I discovered that ovens came with leveling feet – and that my poor mother’s years of problems over unlevel cake layers was not her fault but the fault of unleveled parsonage ovens.

But on this day in October this particular birthday cake was not cooperating with her and soon crumbs were in the frosting and frosting was everywhere. First she got mad - then she got creative. And because enough time had elapsed between when she made the cake and when dad and I came home, we all had a good laugh over the cake and cut it up and ate it. We just had to be really careful and watch out for those toothpicks.

The Yahooti Chronicles

Yahooti was my mom's cat, but he ended up living with my grandparents when my mom and dad married and moved to Boston so dad could finish school.  After dad graduated he was appointed to the church in Elma and they moved into the ramshackle parsonage.  Shortly thereafter my grandparents also moved to Elma, two houses and a church away from the parsonage.  Yahooti then proceeded to divide his time between these two houses. 

I have been doing a bit of research in an attempt to discover the origin of Yahooti's name.  Yehudi Menuhin was a child prodigy back then and Cab Calloway recorded a song called "Where's Yahootie?" which became a popular catchphrase.  "Yahootie" became the name for a mysterious invisible prankster - people blamed him for everything!

Yahooti the cat was a calm soul.  As all cats were back then, he was an indoor/outdoor cat, and he was never neutered.  He stuck pretty close to his two homes, he enjoyed Grandma's lush flower garden, and he especially savored lounging in the shade of the tall peonies.  Hooti was a pretty laid back fellow.  Grandma said she once saw him carefully backing away from a threatening tomcat.  He was not a fighter. 

Here is a pencil drawing done by my uncle in 1941.  The scene depicted was a complete fabrication, artistic license. Hooti would never have been such a bad kitty.  The worst story I ever heard about him was about the paw prints in the frosting on the cake Grandma was about to serve to company.  She saved her reputation by placing walnut halves onto the cake - no one ever suspected the source of her inspiration!

Yahooti by Robert E. McPherson, 1941

Hooti was probably six or seven years old by the time I was born.  My mother got one of her madcap ideas for a great joke to play on her dad.  My grandfather was a skinny nervous kind of man (think Barney Fife).  He had steadfastly refused to "hold the baby" because he was afraid he would drop me.  So Mom weighed Hooti and and she weighed me every day until I weighed exactly as much as the cat.

Mom strolled over to their house with poor Yahooti completely swaddled in my blanket and she finally persuaded Grandpa to hold "me".  Of course by this time Hooti had had quite enough and he exploded out of my startled grandfather's arms.  That story was told and retold many times over the years.  I am not sure if Grandpa ever totally forgave Mom for that stunt.  It is a wonder he had not had a coronary.

Hooti and me

Yahooti was a polydactl - you can see his massive paws in the above photo.  In my childhood relationship with Yahooti I was taught how to behave around cats.  "Don't bother kitty when he's eating."  "Don't pull kitty's  tail."  "If you see kitty burying something in the garden, do not dig it up."  He and I spent many happy hours together and I shared my toys with him.

Yahooti and the mechanical wind-up bear

Yahooti was famous for his occasional forays through the furnace duct work.  Grandma would be trying to clean the vents and Hooti would disappear into the dark tunnel.  He could be heard thumping and banging along, then he would emerge in another room, all covered in dust and cobwebs.  Grandma always made sure to thank him for his assistance, and of course she helped him to restore his coat to its original color by cleaning off the soot.

Hooti was also given credit for inadvertently helping my mom out of a bad situation.   She had gone to the dentist in the city and the session was so lengthy her jaw had locked in the open position.  She came home on the bus, horribly embarrassed and even more frantic than usual.  The dentist had told her the jaw would close sooner or later.  Mom decided to try to take a nap, and as she lay in her bed, Yahooti came into the room and jumped up onto the dresser.  This was strictly forbidden (and he knew it).  Without thinking, Mom tried to yell, "Get down!" and her jaw snapped closed.  She gave him a big hug (how could she have been angry?), he had solved her problem!

Yahooti was probably fourteen or fifteen years old when we received a call from my grandparents that something was very wrong with him.  We no longer lived in Elma but Dad drove us to Grandma and Grandpa's house to assess the situation.  It was decided that Hooti was indeed a very sick kitty and my dad found a box for him and prepared to take him to the vet.  Everyone tried to reassure me that he would be OK, but even though I couldn't have been any more than six or seven I somehow knew that this was the last time I would ever see my little friend.  I remember asking my dad, "Hooti's not coming home, is he?"  I thought my dad would cry, he was so sad when he had to answer, "No, he's not."

Yahooti was the kind of cat who enjoyed life and took it as it came.  He radiated calm as my dad carried him out to the car.  I never saw Hooti again.  Since then I have had jumpy cats and scaredy cats and snuggle-bunny cats and needy cats and super smart cats and mischievous cats - but Hooti was just a big lug, my first big lug.  Yahooti was also my first love and no one ever forgets their first love. 

Collecting: My Thoughts

I collect many things but my oldest and dearest passion has been horses - swap cards, paintings, prints, books and figurines.  It all began when my dad brought home a little china horse for me when I was three years old.  I don't imagine many dads would gift such a young child with so fragile an item, but he was quirky like that, and unbelievably, the figurine remains one of the few in my growing collection that has never been broken.  Clumsiness, kitties and a lot of moving have taken their toll over the years, but this has had an unexpected side benefit - I have learned a lot of ways to repair broken artifacts and people at my shop actually pay me to fix their stuff.

A lot of people collect plastic "model" horses - Breyers and Hartlands .  I did not even know the name Breyer until a couple of years ago, although I had had several in my collection for many years.  Breyers are very realistic looking (for the most part) and there is a massive community that has evolved around their collection.  They make outfits (tack and costumes) and have "horse shows" and take photos with realistic backdrops.  They make manes and tails from real hair and repaint the models with excruciating detail. I have little interest in this; I have my special old Breyers, that is enough for me.

Another community is built around the collection of Hagen Renaker porcelain figurines.  I have about a dozen, dating back to the early fifties, but, again, I did not know anything about them until recently.  Some were gifts but most were bought one at a time, when my dad had to go visit someone in the hospital in Rochester and I went along to keep him company. He rewarded me by taking me downtown to a little gift shop off of Main Street where they sold small china figurines and a good number of novelty items (magic tricks and pranks).  Most in this collection are tiny and spindly and very fragile - and all have at least one broken leg and some have lots of breaks.  I have always repaired them, using increasingly better adhesives as they have become available.

A few years back I acquired a collection of Breyer miniature Stablemates - it took me quite a while to realize that that many of these were identical to my little Hagen Renakers and I was baffled at such seeming design thievery.  I eventually discovered that Hagen Renaker had licensed some of their molds to Breyer for recasting in plastic.  Mystery solved!

Original favorites

In the above photo, Horse Number One is the one in the center.  Clockwise from the upper left is the porcelain foal given to me when I was very young by a little old lady from our church.  She said it had been hers since she was a little girl - I figure it must be almost 150 years old by now, and I have never seen another one like it.  The next one, with the saddle, was made in Japan as a souvenir of Niagara Falls.  Others like it are all over eBay every day.  The grouping of three are Hagen Renakers and designed by Tom Masterson.  The white and gold horse with the spaghetti trim is Queenie, one of the few named horses in my collection.  At least as far as eBay goes, she is pretty unique.  Below Queenie are a pair of Bergen hard plastic horses (I called them Black Beauty and Ginger), and the pair of pintos are salt and pepper shakers.  The jaunty black and white colt and the little white Trojan have always been amongst my favorites and I have had them as long as I can remember.

Current favorites

My taste seems to moved away from mostly realism towards mostly fanciful.  My current favorites all seem to have an artistic style to them.  The one in the middle is one-of-a-kind hand modeled, recently repainted by me because the original paint had become drastically soiled.  I was so delighted to find it in a thrift store.  Upper left is a beautiful pink and blue drip-glazed Royal Haeger, then my collection of little porcelain Trojans (thank you, eBay!), the red rearing horse and the two green rearing ones were designed by Don Manning and I have discovered that they are from the late forties, early fifties.  The little pink gal is a Hagen Renaker (I love her!), the row of colorful colts are also Don Mannings, the elongated green glass colts are made by Mosser, and the white mare and foal are a recent thrift store find.  Aren't they sweet?

I have become a savvy eBay shopper and I have made myself very happy winning these little treasures.   The Internet is proving to be a wondrous resource for researching the origins of my figurines, but much information is lacking. I wish more makers would placed identification marks on their creations!  Not stickers - stickers fall off!   Sadly, I have found only a few books on the collecting of horse figurines. Maybe some day I ought to write a book about the subject, but for now I am keeping myself busy documenting my entire collection.

I am lost in the admiration of the creation of these figures - how lovingly and cleverly and carefully they have been sculpted by such wondrous and mostly unsung artists!  I run my fingers over the elegant lines and shapes.  The beauty makes me smile every day.  I will sing their song.

Horse Collection 1956

Horse Collection 2014

The Desistance of Memory

The two of them have been  customers at my shop for many years now.  Lately, though, the husband has been bringing in a lot of memorabilia to frame for his wife - published articles about her life experiences, certificates of commendation, old photographs.  I had not seen her in a long time.  Several months ago when I called to tell him his last order was finished, she answered the phone, and she seemed confused - she did not recognize the name of my shop at all - but she handed him the phone and he came in straight away to retrieve his framing.

They came in together yesterday afternoon.  He is recently retired from a lengthy military career, she was in education.  They have been married for over forty years.  Onto my counter he placed a couple of newsletters which had articles about her teaching mission in a remote Alaskan Eskimo settlement in the early seventies.  She strolled over to the workbench, looked at the articles and said, "Why - that's me!  Where did you find those?"  She is a tall, slender and beautiful woman with curly white hair, bright blue eyes, and an easy  smile.  He is the quiet, gentle, salt-of-the-earth type (like my dad). She commented that she had forgotten all about those articles.

We had a pleasant chat about the quirks of memory and I told them that I always keep a scrap of paper in my back pocket with "my list" on it.  I told her if I complete a task that I have forgotten to write down - I write it down anyway and cross it off, just for the satisfaction of crossing something off the list.  She laughed.

We wished each other a happy Easter and he handed me his business card so I did not have to hunt for his phone number to call when the order was ready.  As they were leaving he slipped a second card into my hand.  I did not look at it until after they had driven away;  when I did read it, my heart sank.

It is only natural that the public tends to associate picture framing with art.  Sure, we frame oil paintings, watercolors, ink drawings, pencil drawings, pastels, needle art,  photographs and posters. We also frame diplomas and sports jerseys, medals and score cards.  But the most important job of our profession is to present and preserve memories.  It is my hope that these and other framing projects will help this lovely woman hang onto her memories a bit longer. 

Cats and Tats

One afternoon I was sitting in the waiting room at my vet's office, waiting to pick up a prescription.  A young punk-looking couple came in with a small cardboard carrier.  This couple was dressed all in black - T-shirts, jeans, boots, and they were covered in piercings and colorful tattoos, with red/black/blond hair.  The young man especially caught my eye.  He had beautifully drawn and brilliantly inked tattoos extending up from his wrists and disappearing under his T-shirt sleeves, and he was both massive and solid.  They sat next to me on the bench with the carrier on the young man's knee.

The carrier was so small I thought it must contain a pet rat but suddenly little mews and scratching noises came from the carrier and two little pink noses pressed through the air holes.  The young man opened up the carrier and brought out two tiny perfect pure white kittens.  The kittens were very young and they were wide-eyed and squirming, so he placed one on each knee, holding them firmly in his huge hands as he waited for the vet.  What a great photo op - and there I sat with no camera.  I was in agony!

The kittens had their examinations and the young couple had departed before I had my brilliant idea.  I  asked the receptionist for some paper and a pen and I wrote a message to the couple, as I was sure they would be returning for kitten shots, and neuter/spay procedures.  I said something along the lines of "I have been bringing my cats to this vet practice for many years and they know me and can attest that I am not an axe-murderer or anything but I would really like to photograph you and your kittens."  I left my contact information and crossed my fingers.  A few weeks later the young woman phoned me and we made arrangements for me to visit them for a photo shoot.

The kittens had been christened Spirit and Opportunity after the Mars rovers, and I think they were 8-10 weeks old by the time I arrived on their doorstep.  I did not stay too long because the couple were clearly uncomfortable and the kittens were bored stiff and fell asleep before my eyes.  But I did get a couple of nice shots, although I cannot say which kitten was which because they were identical.  

Many thanks to Andrew and Laura for helping me learn a valuable lesson - I now keep my camera with me at all times!

Awake!

Nodding off

Out like a light

 

The Summer of Sam

My first view of him was from the back deck. I heard a sound in the tall grass below, finally spotting the stocky orange tomcat.  He appeared to be trying to stalk prey, but at the same time as he was sneaking through the weeds, he was making odd muttering sounds, which of course announced his presence to any rodents in the vicinity.  He may have been a lousy hunter, but from his size I could tell he was successful beggar.  I later learned that he was being fed by folks from blocks around.

That summer he also became enamored with my Angel, a tough tiger gal.  She was spayed but that did not stop him from following her wherever she went - in the yard, on the deck or up on the roof - but always at a few respectful paces behind.  She would not give him the time of day but he seemed to adore her.  He would never allow me to approach him, though - he vanished if I drew too close to him.

One day I saw that he must have been in a fight; his eye was swollen shut and he looked miserable.  I began to leave food out for him and he chowed down with great gusto.  I could see that his eye was healing but I suspected that he had no sight in it so I continued to feed him.  Every day I crept closer and closer to him until finally worked up the nerve to reach out to touch him.  As my hand patted his rough coat, he fell to the ground, rolling and showing me his belly.  He wanted everything all at once - love, food, pets, love, food!

I wanted to find a name for him but could not come up with anything that seemed to fit him.  As I was falling asleep one night I asked him to come to me in a dream and tell me his name.  Imagine my surprise when he did appear in my dream telling me, "My name is Samson but you can call me Sam."

All summer I fed him and gave him the attention he so dearly craved but then he did not come round for a few days in a row.  As I was growing really worried he staggered into the yard, scruffier than I'd ever seen him and clearly unwell.  He had been in another fight and this time his ear was severely swollen and infected.  I decided that a trip to the vet was in order.  

Hoo boy, this was going to be fun!  This was in the dark ages before they invented cat carriers, back when traveling kitties were traditionally stuffed into pillow cases (leaving their heads sticking out) and all that filled my mind was the unholy terror that Angel turned into when she was in the car or the vet.  She was a tame house cat - how on earth would a wild feral cat behave?  

Granted, he was less than thrilled about the one mile ride to the vet, but once in the examining room Sam amazed us all by sitting there like a stoic meatloaf, right in the middle of the cold stainless steel table.  The expression on his face?  "Well.  At long last I am receiving the professional care that I deserve!"  I am sure his ear must have been quite painful but he never flinched as the vet manipulated and cleaned it.

The vet told me to clean his ear twice a day with peroxide and apply the antibiotic ointment.  Right.  A feral cat, twice a day.  Uh huh.  Sam succeeded in amazing me once again by showing up right on schedule, morning and evening until his course of treatment was finished.  After he was all healed up he more or less disappeared from the neighborhood.  Once in a while I would catch a glimpse of orange muttering through the brush, but I guess my role in his life had been fulfilled.

Sam may never have been able to win his beloved Angel, but I do believe he passed on his orange genes to many generations of tough kitties.  I live only a mile away now (as the crow flies) and there has been a feisty orange tom around here for years and it was almost two years ago that Hari showed up at my back door and said, "Hi!  I am your new kitty!".  Could it be that Hari is a descendant of Sam?  I'll never know.

Sam, 1975

 

Hari, 2012

The Seeker

Peter Ghostbuster, the Seeker

Where am I? 

Why am I here?

I do not think I am supposed to be here.

Not yet, not yet – it is too soon;

I am not ready.

I must return,

find my way back to the beginning.

I must start over.  Why am I here?

But first, inventory:

I am colorless.

I cannot see, I cannot hear;

but I have a voice,

and I have legs.

I must use everything I have been given

to find the way.

And what is here?

I feel softness and warmth, and something else.

It is love - a mighty love.

This mighty love seems to be coming at me

from all directions; it surrounds me, comforts me.

But I must not rest,

I must continue my quest.

I call out, “I am here!”

My small head quivers like a compass needle,

Seeking, seeking, seeking….

I am not sure what it is that I seek,

but I cannot find it.

Where is it?

What is it?

My limbs are weak,

but still I feel the compulsion to move.

I cannot, must not be contained.

Exhausted at last, I call out,

“Help me, help me! I am lost.”

My mom is worried;

she retrieves me and tries her best to soothe me.

The mighty love envelopes me.

Ahhh. 

 

I remember now – it is coming clear to me at last.

I was sent here on a very important mission.

A very brief mission, and somehow, somehow,

I have accomplished this mission.

I have done all I came here to do;

I have found the mighty love.

I am free now to return to my home in the stars.

Gratitude fills my heart.

I am home.

But you will see me again;

and you will recognize me.

I will be resplendent in my tabby pants.

Song of Solomon

I met Solomon on the day he was born, February 12, 1979.  Momcat Satia was jet black and she had miraculously birthed a virtual rainbow of kittens.  There was an orange tiger, a solid gray, a dark tabby, a black and white cow kitty, and Solomon - solid white and a polydactl like his mommy.

The litter was ensconced in a comfy box in the closet of Gary's tiny apartment overlooking Symphony Circle and Kleinhan's Music Hall.  Gary's massive record collection, lining every wall, made the place even smaller.  I frequently stopped by on my way home from work to see the kittens and listen to new music.  A few days after his birth I noticed Solomon's legs and tail had begun to darken.  Gary laughed at me when I told him Solomon was going to be Siamese.  A Siamese polydactl - very funny!

His points continued to darken and by the time he came home with me he really looked like a traditional apple-head sealpoint Siamese - with his huge paws looking very much like boxing gloves with claws.

Solomon was a friend to every cat he ever met.  He was Uncle Solomon, grooming and encircling his friends with constant love and attention.  He ended up with more nicknames than any cat I have ever known:  Mamou, Solo Moose, O Solo Mio, Moosie Boy, Big Mamou, Solid Moose, Bigfoot, Sweet Mamou and Uncle-the-Moose.  He grew and grew and grew - probably weighing 15 pounds in his prime.

One of his best friends in the kitty household was Junior, tabby daughter of tabby Leelah.  When Junior became pregnant, I figured her dear friend Solomon would be the perfect surrogate father to her litter.  I could not have been more wrong.  The first time I introduced him to the nest of little squirmy babies, his eyes widened in terror and he ran for the hills.  He was petrified of those little balls of fluff.  He would not even go near poor Junior; she was crushed and confused to lose her dear friend.

One evening after the kittens had ventured forth into the big world of the hallway, I watched as an amazing tableau unfolded.  Solomon had decided to stretch out in the middle of the hall and the kittens were playing and frolicking around him.  Every time a kitten ended up within his reach he batted it away in disgust.  But they kept coming, one after another, a furry little battalion of determined soldiers on a mission.  This went on for at least a half an hour.  Kitten after kitten tried, failed and then tried again to win him over.  He was having none of it - bat, bat, bat!  The kittens were flung this way and that.

I do not know how or why the switch got thrown in his mind, but very suddenly he licked a kitten's head, instead of batting it across the floor.  And then, just as suddenly all of the kittens were all over him and he was grooming them and enfolding them in his mighty embrace.  Uncle-the-Moose was on the job!  And Mama Junior was once again his best friend.

Solomon lived a long, healthy happy life. His blue eyes glowed with unconditional love. His purr was loud and resonant.  His whole body vibrated when he was purring.  Then, suddenly in May of 1992, his purr fell silent.  A most mysterious sickness overtook him and I became very afraid.  On the last night he spent in the house, I slept on the floor in the hall closet to be close to him, to comfort him.  He went to the vet the next morning, dehydrated, nauseated, not eating.  He was whisked away for treatment and the vet said he would call when he had news.  Unfortunately, when the vet did phone, it was to tell me Solomon had passed away.  It was only the necropsy which revealed the cause of death - peritonitis. My only solace was knowing he had not suffered a lengthy illness - but I wish I had been able to say a proper goodbye to my Sweet Mamou.

Solomon February 12, 1979 - May 31, 1992

One Hundred Songs (and a few more)

Me as Elvis in 1957 with my Sears Roebuck cardboard guitar

The only musical talent I have ever manifested is a life-long appreciation of many types of music.  When I was nine years old I remember watching Elvis on the Ed Sullivan Show and I wrote him a nice letter asking him to come and play at my next birthday party in the back yard.  His people sent me an autographed 5x7 color photo which my mother later threw away before the Bishop came to visit.  I remember buying my first 45 when I was twelve ("My Bucket's Got A Hole In It" by Ricky Nelson) and my shortly thereafter, my first mono LP - by Edd "Kookie" Burns.  I bought "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" by the Tokens and returned it to the store because the hole had been punched off center and it would not play.  I had to make the guy at the store (it was a furniture store) try to play it himself before he believed me and gave me a new copy.  I bought new 45's as they came out and handfuls of old ones (3/$1) at Grants Department Store in downtown Buffalo.

Radio was (and still is) my lifeline.  I listened to late night disc jockeys on my turquoise blue brick sized transistor radio - George "The Hound Dog" Lorenz, Dick Summer, Cousin Brucie, Tom Shannon - they furthered my desires for more, more, and still more records.  Later along came Danny and Joey and the Royal Order of the Purple Candle.  My interests advanced from my parents' collection of Broadway albums ("Flower Drum Song", "Carousel", "Oklahoma!", all the way to "Bye Bye Birdie") and then along came the Great Folk Music Scare with Peter, Paul and Mary, The Kingston Trio, The Chad Mitchell Trio, The Limelighters, etc.  Next came The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez - well, what can anyone say about the music of the sixties that has not already been said?

Once I began going to concerts and festivals my music collection widened further.  I remember anxiously waiting what seemed like years for Arlo Guthrie to come out with "Alice's Restaurant" on vinyl after hearing him debut it at Newport.  I witnessed Bob Dylan "go electric" at the Newport Folk Festival, I went to Woodstock.  I bought recordings at Mariposa and Summerfolk for decades - and I still bring cash to concerts so I can buy merch directly from the artist.

This list of my top one hundred favorite songs was both fun and time-consuming to compile.  You will notice that after some songs I have added in parentheses other titles by the same artist - I mean, it is simply not possible for me to choose just one song by writers like John Prine or Leonard Cohen or Dylan.  I did cheat however and put covers by other artists into the list so I could squeeze in more of my favorites.  I do not generally approve of covers - but the ones I have listed are so stellar they have always been right up there with the originals.

Looking over this list I find it very interesting that as a dyed-in-the-wool homebody, I have a lot of songs about trains, truckers, wanderers and gypsies.  The preacher's kid in me has always been drawn to songs about spirituality and religion.  I love songs with clever lyrics and unexpected rhymes, songs with resonant harmonies and songs with soaring fiddles.  I love rounds.  I love songs with stories in them and stories behind them.  I once heard Roberta Flack say that the day she recorded "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" her beloved cat had just died and she was remembering the kitty as she sang.  And some songs take me to scenes in movies or TV shows where they so perfectly complemented the scenes ("Worst Day Since Yesterday", for instance, on Stargate Universe and "Nights in White Satin" at the end of the Sonny Steelgrave arc on Wiseguy).

Anyways, here is my list - let me know if you want me to make you a mix-tape.

·       Euphonious Whale – Dan Hicks and His Hot Licks

·       If Venice is Sinking – Spirit of the West

·       Heroes – David Bowie

·       Dancing on My Own Ground – Lawrence Gowan

·       Worst Day Since Yesterday – Flogging Molly

·       Crying – Roy Orbison

·       Runaround Sue – Dion and the Belmonts

·       Fairytale of New York – The Pogues (I’m a Man you Don’t Meet Every Day) (Dirty Old Town)

·       The Drinking Song – Moxy Fruvous (King of Spain, live version)

·       Onward and Upward – Beverly Glen Copeland

·       Ride Forever – Paul Gross  (32 Down on the Robert Mackenzie)

·       Heaven – Talking Heads (Wild Wild Life)(Life During Wartime)

·       Losing My Religion – REM

·       City of New Orleans – Steve Goodman (I Can’t Sleep)

·       The Dutchman – Michael Smith

·       White Rose - Fred Eaglesmith (Indiana Road)

·       Girl Power – Electroman

·       Wicked and Weird – Buck 65

·       Boxes - Road Dog Divas

·       Me Llaman Calle - Manu Chao

·       Cause – Sixto Rodriguez

·       Land – Patti Smith

·       The Crystal Ship – The Doors  (The End)

·       Time Has Come Today – The Chambers Brothers

·       The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald – Rheostatics (Northern Wish)

·       Saskatchewan – Red Box

·       Gypsy Solitaire - Fraser and DeBolt

·     Memories – Leonard Cohen (Take this Waltz) (So Long Marianne) (Iodine) (Dance Me to the End of Love) (Gypsy Wife)

·       The Urge for Going – Tom Rush (Circle Game)

·       High School Confidential – Rough Trade

·       She Belongs to Me – Bob Dylan (Isis) (Forever Young)(Like a Rolling Stone)

·       Diamonds and Rust – Joan Baez

·       Rust Never Sleeps – Neil Young

·       Picture My Face – Teenage Head

·       Ashes to Ashes - Danny Michel  (Would you Buy a Frame?)

·       Babooshka – Kate Bush (Wuthering Heights, Man with the Child in his Eyes)

·       Sweeping the Spotlight Away – Murray Maclaughin (Out Past the Timberline)(You Need a New Lover Now)

·       Simple Twist of Fate – Tim Curry (I Do the Rock) (Paradise Garage)

·       Navajo Rug – Ian Tyson

·       Brownsville/Mockingbird – Joy of Cooking

·       Temagimi Round – Marie-Lynn Hammond

·       Dance and Celebrate – Bourne and MacLeod

·       Witch of the Westmorland – Stan Rogers  (The Mary Ellen Carter) (45 years)

·       Brothers in Arms – Dire Straits

·       Buxton – Tanglefoot

·       Celluloid Heroes – The Kinks (Come Dancing) (A Rock ‘N’ Roll Fantasy)

·       Atlantis – Donovan (Catch the Wind)

·       Tinker’s Knife – Morgan LeFay

·       Panther in Michigan – Trout Fishing in America

·       Highwayman – The Highwaymen

·       Some Velvet Morning – Lee Hazelwood and Nancy Sinatra

·       Nights in White Satin – Moody Blues

·       The Mummers’ Dance – Loreena McKennitt (Night Ride Across The Caucasus) (The Mystic's Dream) (The Highwayman)

·       Blackjack Davy – The Incredible String Band

·       I Want You Around – The Ramones (Rock ‘n’ Roll High School)

·       Anthem – The Once

·       Ring of Fire – Johnny Cash

·       Silver Tongue Devil – Kris Kristofferson

·       Safety Dance – Men Without Hats

·       Rock, Salt and Nails – Tracy Nelson, Linda Ronstadt, Earl Scruggs Revue

·       Passing Through – Joan Baez, Leonard Cohen, Buffy Saint-Marie, Ramblin’ Jack Elliot

·       Life’s Railway to Heaven – Amazing Rhythm Aces

·       Orange Blossom Special – Seatrain

·       Turn Your Face to the Sun – Cathy Carfagna

·       Come Back to Us Barbara Lewis Hare Krishna Beauregard -John Prine (Mexican Home) (Christmas in Prison) (The Accident) (It’s a Big Old Goofy World) (Hello in There)(That’s the Way that the World Goes Round)

·       Matapedia – Kate and Anna McGarrigle

·       Not So Sweet Martha Lorraine – Country Joe and the Fish

·       You’ll Have Time - William Shatner (Common People)

·       Biggest Ball of Twine in Minnesota – Weird Al Yankovic

·       Huron Carole – Tom Jackson

·       Ain’t Life a Brook – Ferron

·       I’m Checking Out (of this Heartbreak Hotel) – Meryl Streep and Blue Rodeo from “Postcards from the Edge”

·       God is Alive Magic is Afoot – Buffy Sainte-Marie (Piney Wood Hills)(Starwalker)(Until It’s Time For You To Go)(Codine)

·       Galaxy Song – Eric Idle

·       Bird of Paradise – Tony Bird

·       Scatterlings – Johnny Clegg and Juluka

·       Henry Martin – Pamela Morgan and Figgy Duff

·       Canadian Railroad Trilogy – Gordon Lightfoot (Home From the Forest)

·       Robbie’s Song for Jesus – John Allen Cameron (Lord of the Dance)

·       Plea from a Cat Named Virtute – The Weakerthans

·       Now – Dave Carroll

·       Little Red Riding Hood – Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs

·       Jumble Sale – Jake Thackary (Ulysses)

·       God’s Own Drunk – Jimmy Buffet

·       When the River Meets the Sea – Paul Williams from “Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas”

·       Pounded on a Rock – The Bobs

·       Oreos – Free Hot Lunch

·       Werewolves of London – Warren Zevon

·       Paradise by the Dashboard Light – Meat Loaf

·       Old Home Filler-Up and Keep on Truckin’ Café – C.W. McCall

·       We Rise Again – The Rankin Family

·       Petite Fleur – Kaleidoscope (Cuckoo)

·       The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face – Roberta Flack

·       Mull of Kintyre - Paul McCartney and Wings

·       Time After Time - Cindy Lauper

·       Caravan – Dulcimer (with narration by Richard Todd)

·       Somewhere Over the Rainbow – Israel “Iz” Kamakawiwo’ole

·       Heaven – Psychedelic Furs

·       All The Horses Running – Stringband (Daddy Was a Ballplayer) (Look What’s Become of Me) (I Don’t Sleep With Strangers Anymore)

·       You Can’t Always Get What You Want – Rolling Stones (Sympathy for the Devil) (Shattered)

 

  

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