We kicked off the first day of summer as I believe the solstice should be celebrated … with an homage to the great outdoors.  These two ran, squealed, shrieked and squirted each other with water, red faced and ecstatic.  They cooled down with Popsicles and my little one came home happy and exhausted.  Oh I remember the joy of a good night’s sleep after playing hard in the summer!  In that twilight time between bath and bed I would replay all that fun in my mind with the joy of knowing I had all summer to do it again:  the sound of cicadas, the smell of fresh cut grass, and the promise of long summer nights stretched out before me like a magic carpet.  It is hard to believe these girls have known each other half of their young lives.  I am not going to wonder where life will take them; I am simply going to enjoy the ride and the precious gift we have been given of time.  I am reminded of my favorite Shakespearean Sonnet (Number 18):

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

I enjoy all four seasons but summer holds a magic all her own.  I hope my little one experiences all she has to offer and will carry wonderful memories of these times; continuing summer’s joy throughout her life.  I know I do.

There is nothing sweeter than the sight of two little girls giggling and playing together.  I had forgotten what it was like to want to whisper some nonsensical secret into a friend’s ear or show someone my room or my things.  Times are so different; play dates have replaced randomly running wild.  I recently read somewhere that children spend less time outdoors now than prisoners.  What a sad, horrifying thought.  I think I had an advantage growing up in an apartment because all the kids met at the playground.  We were a roaming pack that played tether ball, rode our Big Wheels everywhere, hung upside down from metal monkey bars and, if it was not a safer time, it certainly was a more naive one.  My mother said I could go as far as the sound of her voice.  And when she called me in for supper I ran like the wind getting home.  I had grass stains and bruises on my knees.  Now kids have sunscreen and insect repellent with plastic playgrounds.  My little one was thrilled when her friend came over and they disappeared upstairs to play.  When her daddy swept her up to take her home we were sad to see her go.  Look at the joy in this picture.  I want my little one to have the freedom to make friends and play without worry just as I did growing up.  The venue may have changed but the sentiment has not.  Mencius, the ancient Chinese philosopher, once said, “Friends are the siblings God never gave us.”

I have always known I was the stereotypical “crazy cat lady.”  It is a label I have accepted in part with embarrassment and in part with pride.  Why is it the compassionate ones are always labeled crazy and animal killers are considered normal?  I do not mean to sound harsh but I believe it is the absolute truth.  Obviously I cannot pass through pet stores and visiting shelters make me so despondent I have no words.  I suppose I am just not strong enough.  Anyway, I was minding my own business one day when these two popped up on my Facebook feed.  It was a last ditch rescue plea from a local shelter and I could have cheerfully strangled the friend who posted it.  They just haunted me.  First, if you are not a cat person and did not know this most orange cats are male.  I believe they used to be even more rare but current statistics place them at 80% male and 20% female.  Calico cats (three colors:  black, orange and white) are almost always female and tortoiseshell cats are as well.  (They have two colors; black and orange.)  So this little rare pair were both girls.  I confess I went for the kitten (a dilute calico) but her cries as she was taken from her mother will haunt me the rest of my days.  It was AWFUL.  Equally so was seeing her near starving mother reaching her paw out of the cage to her kitten.  Their cries echoed down and through the corridor and looking at the mother I KNEW she knew he was going to be killed.  In that instant I uncharacteristically ordered the mean, immune officer who had callously grabbed the kitten by the nape of the neck to put her back immediately with her mother where she belonged.  And then I announced I would be taking them both.  This haughty proclamation was followed by a texted plea to my husband not to divorce me.  His response was, “You got them both, didn’t you?”  And then I knew he was the kindest, sweetest man in the whole world; possibly the only one who truly understood and accepted me.  When we met I had seven cats.  Yep; seven.  And he loved them all.  Judge me; make fun of me; but they were my family.  I needed them just as much as they needed me.  And I do not regret one single rescue.  Returning to my story, I was not prepared to take two cats and one kind officer went and emptied out a box of printer paper so I could get them home.  I remember feeling ill carrying them, as the mother weighed less than four pounds and her kitten who even knows.  Something happened when I took the mother.  She knew I was keeping them together and she just seemed to let go.  I was afraid she would die because she had not been eating in the shelter.  I am sure it was because she could smell the death.  After leaving them to our bathroom upstairs with food and water something miraculous happened.  She started eating and gained enough weight to nurse!!!  Soon her little kitten’s tummy was full of Mama’s milk and they would lay together purring contentedly.  I began a sort of perverse reverse mental count of how many days they would have been gone contrasted with how well they were doing at the present.  And so I named the Mama cat Soleil which in French means “sun” and Giverny is where Monet lived when he painted his famous waterlilies.  Both kitties are rare in that you also do not see many dilute calicos.  Notice she is more gray and pink and white as opposed to black, orange and white.  Her muddled tones reminded me of Monet’s pond, which we had just visited.  They needed antibiotics and eye drops but flourished.  Giverny still remains tiny and our little one’s eternal “kitten.”  So if/when someone crinkles their nose when they discover our cats I remember the sound of them crying for each other that will haunt me as long as I live.  I will wear the crazy label; at least I know they were saved and are a loved, cherished part of our little family.  The renowned French-German academic Albert Schweitzer once said, “There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life:  music and cats.”  Both have been a refuge for me as I have struggled with the loss of both of my parents.  So really I do not believe, in my arrogance, I “saved” these cats.  I believe they saved me.

“We’re having a girls’ day!” is something my little one often likes to say.  It warms my heart.  Really mostly I’m working and doing chores, feeling guilty I’m dragging her with me.  But she makes our mundane time special; filled with laughter, imagination, and adventure.  In between rounds I scheduled time for a manicure and pedicure, or mani/pedi, and my little one asked if she could have pink sparkly princess nails.  Winking at me, the ladies fussed over her and gave her the palest of shimmer on her still-baby nails.  She felt so special and held so still.  Afterward she did not want to wash her hands for fear of her polish coming off.  She thanked everyone in English, Spanish, and Vietnamese just like I’d taught her and said it was our best day ever.  I confess the day picked up when I discovered the Hawaiian themed nail salon served tropical frozen drinks!  I almost dropped my teeth when they handed her a strawberry one.  Again with a wink and smile I realized they’d given her a virgin one, while Mommy’s lime one had a hit of rum.  Oh she was SO thrilled!  She said, “Mama!  My first margarita!” but it came out more like “marmameetuh.”  How precious this time is, and these moments.  I realize looking back I never regret time spent with my father while he worked.  I learned so much from him either about how to do something or life or just what his own childhood was like.  German theologian Walter Benjamin once said, “Counsel woven into the fabric of real life is wisdom.”  And now I carry that fabric with me and I am sewing it into the pieces of Maris’ life quilt.  Someday she will do the same for her children.  I hope and pray her scraps are filled with love, beauty, strength, happiness and memories that she will hand down and that they will last long into the next generations.  I can only pray and aspire to be the example my parents set for me.  So my little girly got a little mani … and maybe a special memory woven in along the way.