The American writer Andre Norton once said, “Always the cat remains a little beyond the limits we try to set for him in our blind folly.”  Truer words were never spoken.  Our sweet but mischievous half Siamese kitten has inadvertently saved us a little bit of money.  I have always enjoyed getting fresh flowers from the grocery store each week, as I feel it has lent a cheery warmth to our home and our dinner table.  However that has gone out the window (and down the sink) since Mr. Blue arrived.  True to his Siamese roots, the little thing is a veritable hunter.  Nothing is safe from his grasp.  I used to think coming home to find scattered rose petals would be a romantic surprise.  However, coming home to find roses have been “killed” and strewn about in nearly every room of the house as well as on every available surface is NOT my idea of romance.  Add to that huge wolfies inadvertently grinding their giant paws into them and clean up is just miserable.  I have always eschewed artificial flowers, I suppose because I they have no life.  However I am now a reluctant convert.  See these roses?  Fake.  And guess what?  They look like this every day — no broken vases, no spilled water, and no flowers upended staring back at me in some macabre fashion.  They cost the same as the grocery store roses did for one week only these will last forever.  The greatest part is our mischievous cats leave them alone!  I have broken down and purchased some type of trailing (artificial) flowers that NEVER would have survived in our house if they’d been real and the gatos have not even touched them.  It just goes to show your pets can indeed push you beyond the limits, but maybe that is not always a bad thing.

I have no real historical basis for this, but I am willing to bet even dating back to Egyptian times when cats were worshipped they were also in baskets.  There is just something irresistible about a cat in a basket; both to the person watching and to the cat who is occupying it.  At some point every day, our cat Blue here is either resting on top of the clean, warm towels or he is using it as a type of fort to hide in when it is empty.  He tumps it over and proceeds to attack anything — human, animal, or man-made, that happens by.  This has resulted in the arduous and much dreaded trimming of the cat claws for the sake of both furniture and feet.  I may have already mentioned this, but when I was little our Seal Point Siamese named Suki used to run straight up the curtains.  It was so cool to watch and even funnier to hear my mother holler at her to “GET DOWN!” which, of course, she blithely ignored until she was good and ready.  She also liked to climb under Mama’s baby grand piano and “play.”  It looked like a ghost piano with its black and white keys moving up and down seemingly of their own accord, producing wildly dissonant sounds.  Blue has not had a chance to explore that as we have an upright piano.  However he has “played” a time or two sitting with his haunches on the bench and putting his front paws on the keys.  There’s another irresistible sight — a kitten on the keys.  We never quite know where we will find Mr. Blue.  Burk calls him “Kung Fu Master Blue” because of his proclivity for popping out from the most incongruous places.  It reminds me of the silly Pink Panther movies where Clouseau has a Chinese manservant named Cato Fong who is trained to attack him regularly in order to keep him alert and skilled in martial arts.  Cato puts a lot of effort into taking his employer by surprise, just as I suspect Blue does with us.  Clouseau never really feels safe, as Cato will stop at nothing.  Having a Siamese in the house carries much the same sentiment.  The American political satirist and journalist P.J. O’Rourke once quipped, “Never wear anything that panics the cat.”  I think we all shall follow this sage advice as we remain ever vigilant for a cat in a basket.

I was not lucky enough to have known either one of my grandfathers.  My grandmother Maris died when I was six and my grandma Ringler passed when I was fifteen.  Sometimes people mistook my parents for my grandparents and it made me very, VERY sensitive and angry.  To think my mother had me at 36 and was considered old.  I was not blessed to have my baby until I was 41!  Grandparents’ Day was a painful one for me because I never had someone who could come.  At least now schools are more aware of things like this; they allow those who do not have anyone to bring their parents or someone who is “special.”  My girl is so blessed to have not only grandparents but a very active great grandmother who is 90.  They are all on my husband’s side.  I ache so badly for my parents and wish they were still here.  I try not to be jealous when I see women out with their parents and their own children.  It is the only type of envy I struggle with.  Instead I try to focus on the fact that God blessed me with wonderful parents for as long as I had them, and now I am blessed to have my own child and a husband whom I truly love.  I know a lot of people have neither.  Brian Tracy, the Canadian-born American motivational public speaker has said, “The greatest gift that you can give to others is the gift of unconditional love and acceptance.”  I was blessed to have that from my parents for as long as they lived, and I can say with certainty that my daughter will have both from my husband and me always.  I am glad she has family with whom she can celebrate on Grandparents’ Day.

I remember when a quarter was everything.  It got you a drink at the roller rink, a giant gum ball, or a prize from a toy machine.  It could allow you to make a phone call, and — best of all — it bought you a game at the arcade; my favorites were Centipede and Arkanoid.  A quarter was like a passport to the world.  People under 20 have no idea what a public phone even looked like and now arcade games cost an astounding dollar or even more.  On top of that they don’t even TAKE quarters; you put your money on a card and slide away.  I hoarded quarters and chose very carefully how I would spend mine.  It was a tangible thing that made a kid feel empowered.  Having said that, now I try to keep $5 in cash to use in parking garages and I never carry change.  One of my fondest memories growing up was of playing air hockey with my daddy.  He was really good, and he let me win less and less as I got older until we eventually had epic battles.  We never had our own table, but we loved to play.  So when I saw an air hockey machine I knew I had to introduce my little one to it!  She got all excited and then I realized I had no coins, no cash, and not even cards for an ATM.  (Now I just pay using my phone or watch.)  We were heartbroken and I told her we would have to play some other time.  A guy playing pool nearby overheard us, came over, and plopped four quarters in my hand.  “So you can play air hockey,” he said.  I stood there in total shock holding the money while my little one was tugging on my other hand excitedly saying, “Mama!  Let’s go play!”  Becoming unfrozen, I asked her, “What do we say?” and my little one looked up at him with barely contained restraint.  “Thank you sir,” she said, sounding like Oliver Twist.  He had no idea of the significance of what he had done.  I showed her how to feed the quarters in just as my daddy had once shown me.  Then I let her get the feel of the game as she accidentally scored for me on her own side.  She looked so upset I “accidentally” did the same and she squealed with glee.  “Oh it’s ON!” I told her as I hunched dramatically over the table, shifting my weight from side to side and squinting my eyes.  Jumping up and down she said, “I’m gonna beat you Mama!” and of course I let her.  Our first precious game was over and I went to say thank you again to the sweet young man (wow that makes me sound old) who gave us a dollar of his money and a priceless experience.  I asked if I could take his picture and he reluctantly said, “Yes ma’am.”  It made me feel positively ancient hearing that but I knew he was not only kind but polite.  The American essayist Washington Irving wrote, “A kind heart is a fountain of gladness, making everything in its vicinity freshen into smiles.”  His sweet, selfless gesture brought us such joy and made us smile.  We were blessed to have encountered a kind heart.

When I was little folks who were slower (mostly mentally but also physically) were called “retarded.”  Half the time it was not even meant to be disparaging.  This is a particularly sensitive issue with me because my father contracted polio at three days old and was made fun of mercilessly for most of his formative years.  He wore leg braces and no one wanted to play with him, including his own supposed father.  It’s a long story, but he was not able to walk on his own until he was a teenager.  Daddy met Mama in high school but there was another boy who was competing for her.  He bragged about beating Daddy up in junior high; what he neglected to tell her was that he tied a crippled boy to a tree and pummeled him to a pulp.  When Mama eventually learned the truth (not from Daddy) she never had anything to do with the cruel boy again.  My little one was about two and a half when she began taking swim lessons on her own.  There was a blond haired, blue-eyed boy in her class who at first did not like to get in the water.  He cried a lot.  It upset my little one so much that she refused to get into the water unless he did.  When I told my tiny little girl how proud I was of her she could not understand why.  I told her it made my heart so happy because she wanted to protect the little boy who was different.  I will never forget her asking, “Different how?”  I so wished my father had been alive to hear that.  Eventually both kids moved to different swim schools but we as mothers have tried to stay in touch.  A bowling birthday party invitation came and I asked my little one if she remembered him.  She looked at me as if to say “of course” and then answered, “Yes, he was my friend from my old swim school.”  The little boy’s mother also asked her son if he remembered my girl and he said yes, that she was the one with the curly hair.  What is so remarkable is that they had not seen each other in over half their young lives — and yet they each remembered the other.  The bowling party was a blast!  The kids bowled, there was an arcade and there were delicious gluten free mini bundt cakes.  We all resumed like we’d seen each other yesterday, when really it was about two and a half years.  The ancient Greek Theologian Saint Basil once said:

“A tree is known by its fruit; a man by his deeds.  A good deed is never lost; he who sows courtesy reaps friendship, and he who plants kindness gathers love.”

I believe this boy’s mother is extraordinary and has a strong, positive, can-do attitude; her son will go far.  Knowing my girl has loved her friend without once noticing his differences has me bowled over.

I remember being pregnant, registering in a baby store, and going ballistic when I saw a princess potty complete with bejeweled flusher.  Boys had multiple options varying from empowering superheroes to strong handymen.  I stood there fuming in disbelief as I noted with horror little girls had only ONE option.  And that option was all sparkly and pink and vapid.  I resolved to find my little one a regular potty; one that didn’t make a statement.  Grinding my teeth, I looked at all the pink tulle tutus and enormous bows and vowed my child would be strong and feminine without being insipid.  Cut to several years later.  For the sake of my own mental wellness, I gave in and let her start watching a little television.  Cookie Monster had to eat carrots now and she was too young for old school Scooby Doo.  Just the sound of Dora the Explorer’s voice made me want to murder someone and don’t even get me started on the rest of “girls'” cartoons versus “boys’.”  My favorite Hollywood actress Geena Davis said:

“We’re showing kids a world that is very scantily populated with women and female characters.  They should see female characters taking up half the planet, which we do.”

Blessedly, we found we both love “Paw Patrol” and the “Octonauts.”  There is still not enough female representation, but at least the ones they show are smart and capable.  Then I heard about “Sophia the First” and I was prepared to dislike it and dismiss it without giving it a chance.  As it has happened so many times already in her young life, my little one taught me a lesson.  The series turned out to be wonderful.  It emphasizes thoughtfulness, kindness, sincerity, and other values I wish for my little girl to have.  OK, it also didn’t hurt that she has a magic amulet that lets her speak with animals!  That is SERIOUSLY my dream “super power!”  Now they have a spin off we also love even more called “Elena of Avalor.”  The princess is a little more mature but the core values are even stronger, in my opinion.  She can fence, she is inclusive, she is respectful, and she even has flying jaguars.  With the added mythical mesoamerican themes I was hooked.  I am not ashamed to say I watch cartoons with my daughter … but only the ones I can tolerate.  I have fond memories of watching “The Three Stooges” with Daddy but Mama absolutely could not stand them.  Anyway, I always knew Pocahontas was strong because she really lived.  I have adored Belle for her love of books, Mulan for her fighting spirit, and Ariel the mermaid because she was so passionate she risked her life to gain true love.  (I never said I wasn’t a hopeless romantic.)  This generation is a far cry from the first “princess” cartoon my mother grew up with; Snow White.  She had a gentle spirit and it was sweet that all the forest animals loved her, but I think society has progressed to embrace and even desire stronger females now.  And so, when my little one wanted to decorate my arm with her princess stickers I asked her to take this picture afterward.  Rather than be embarrassed, I was actually proud to wear them.  I have repeatedly told my little one good ALWAYS prevails over evil — and it really does.  And there is nothing wrong with hoping to find true love.  I have also learned that wanting to be a princess is not absolutely, horribly unredemptive.  Now I am actually glad to be “stuck with princesses.”

I have written about this before, but it makes me feel so good to be appreciated — whether it is kind words from a stranger, acknowledgement from my family, or thanks for the work I have done.  Since I value it I try to always let others know how much I appreciate them, too.  Sometimes instead of saying, “Thank you” I’ll say, “I appreciate you.”  This is another pic from sweet clients I have who make me feel appreciated.  I cannot tell you how good that feels.  They certainly did not have to; yet they chose to.  I try to do the same for the people who work for me.  I think little things go a long way and brighten people’s spirits as well as their day.  Two of my favorite self-indulgences are a good red wine and a nice cigar.  The former I partake of with more frequency than the latter.  These people know me well, but they were given to me during Lent.  I gave up alcohol during that time and just had the pleasure of enjoying them both.  (The two pair well together in my opinion.)  I texted to thank them and let them know it was appreciated.  Ralph Marston, the publisher of The Daily Motivator wrote:

“Make it a habit to tell people thank you.  To express your appreciation, sincerely and without the expectation of anything in return.  Truly appreciate those around you, and you’ll soon find many others around you.  Truly appreciate life, and you’ll find that you have more of it.”

I realize how blessed I am to have reciprocal appreciation with many of my clients — and for that I shall gratefully say “thank you.”

My little one was born in the year of the rabbit.  So now every time I see a bunny I think of her.  I was going in the kitchen to make dinner when I saw this and immediately took a picture of it.  Something about it was so unexpectedly sweet.  She’d brought it home from school and had taped it on the counter right where I would see it but it was at her eye level.  I went into her playroom and she was trying to hide a coy smile.  “Guess what?!” I exclaimed.  “What?” she said, now smiling broadly.  “I found a bunny rabbit in our kitchen!” I said as I widened my eyes.  She giggled, “I did that!  It’s for you Mama!”  “Well I LOVE it!” I told her as I gathered her up in my arms for a big hug.  “I colored it and I cut it by myself!” she said proudly.  “Thank you so much for letting me have it,” I told her while I savored the feel of her arms around my neck.  “You’re welcome,” she said, suddenly shy.  The 19th century writer George Sand wrote, “There is only one happiness in this life, to love and be loved.”  I learned something fascinating while looking up the citation for this quote that came to mind.  I discovered that George Sand was actually the pseudonym for the French novelist and memoirist Amantine-Lucile-Aurore Dupin.  She was equally known for a much publicized affair with the famous pianist and composer Frédéric Chopin.  I love the thrill of discovery!  Between my little one’s surprise and learning George Sand was really a woman it made for a great evening.  Of course the greatest joy of all is having my baby to love and knowing that some bunny loves me, too.

To be fair, Giverny (pictured here) was not the culprit.  But the poem came to mind when I saw this picture.  I was unable to leave the vase on the windowsill because our Siamese kitten (the rose lover) tipped it over and all the water went down into our toaster.  It took me three days before I worked up the nerve to try and use it again.  I used to treat myself to grocery store roses once a week; there is something about seeing a fresh flower over dinner that is so lovely.  I confess I just bought a realistic set of silk roses because I knew the cats couldn’t destroy them and they would never die.  I am using my rose money to save up for something else but there is a sadness in not seeing a living rose in our home.  Luckily, the people who owned our house at some point before us planted an old fashioned rose bush with spray roses that actually still have that wonderful rose smell.  I do not pick them, I just go out and smell them every morning before work when I am watering.  As you might be able to tell from the picture, this rose was already dying.  At least my roses outside live a long time and I am able to enjoy them daily without cutting them.  The English poet and cleric Robert Herrick famously wrote:

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.”

When I was younger I found this depressing.  Now I view it as a positive.  Time is like a precious rose; gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

It’s funny when you think about it:  the word “leading.”  It can either mean you are leading or someone is leading you.  In martial arts I see both; the push and the pull; the yin and the yang.  On this day my little one lead the class in stretching exercises; the only girl in a sea of boys.  She is so tiny and most of them looked so tall.  Of course she is a student so the Master was leading her from the back.  Such a fascinating study in contrast.  She is 5; he is 45.  In Native culture we believe in the circle of life, and as I gazed up at the South Korean flag I could not help but note the circular pattern contained within.  My mother spent so much of her time watching me; now I watch my little girl.  I pray one day she will be lucky enough to watch hers, and that I will be around to enjoy it.  I observed the kids push and pull each other to lower themselves eventually into splits.  One would go up and it pulled the other downward.  Next the one who was down came up and the one who was upward went down.  The English poet William Cowper wrote, “They whom truth and wisdom lead, can gather honey from a weed.”  This is what I strive for and wish for my daughter as well … to gather honey from a weed.