I'm knitting for two

No, I'm not pregnant. If I were, I'd advise everyone to look into the sky because you'd see a star shining in the east! I'm knitting for two grand babies. A boy, Bryce, due in a couple of weeks. A girl, Abbey, due in February. Knitting for babies is so much fun! I can work up a cute little sweater in no time, rather than spending days knitting on the back of an adult sweater. Plus, baby things are soooo much cuter!

For Bryce, Ive made a couple of sweaters, including a teeny tiny little blue sweater, sox, and hat that he'll grow out of in about a week! I've made a couple of blankets, some washcloths (not my favorite thing to knit!), more sox, and a couple of hats. I've been sewing, too. A cute little Halloween sleep sac and quilt, a bunch of receiving blankets, and some burp cloths.

I'm just getting started on baby Abbey's things. Receiving blankets, dresses, sweaters, sox, hats, and a whole nursery set with sheets, a bed skirt, curtains, and a quilt. Abbey's room will be hot pink and black. Very cutting edge!

Knitting and sewing for the babies has become my second occupation and I couldn't be happier! I have way more ideas than I have time or money, but if I write things down, I'll get lots done! I have a couple of weeks of vacation coming up. I should be able to put a big dent in my "baby stash"!

Grief and kitties

Smokey died peacefully in her sleep this week. She was a Maine Coon mix rescue that we got when Catie was nine. That would make her about 17 years old at the time of her death. That's a long life for a cat that started out in an abusive home. Catie sent her to live with me a few years ago. She was afraid of coming home in the evening and finding Smokes dead. Better that I should find her! She always had a kind of cross eyed look and the tip on her tongue would stick out of her mouth. The kids called that her "crack baby face". She was allergic to flea saliva. It made her fur fall out. As she got older, she had difficulty grooming her long blue-gray coat. If I attempted to comb her, she would bite! It was the only time she ever displayed negative behavior. Elliott shaved her matted fur a few months ago. She looked funny until her coat came back in. It was as beautiful as ever. Good by Smokey, we'll miss you.
Along with this sadness, I am going to have to take MawMaw and Skuttles to the vet to be put down. Skuttles was born with "flipper feet", her little back legs were splayed out flat under her hips. I was overjoyed when she got strength enough to stand up on them. Sadly, as she has gotten older, her hips have become more unstable and she has not been eating. She spends most of her time sleeping. When she walks, she is in agony. I can't let her suffer any longer.
MawMaw is about 15 years old. Another elderly cat at the end of her life. She was content living in the basement until a couple of weeks ago. I think she wanted to spend some time with us so she could say good by. She has always been a sweet tempered cat, and a good momma. She loves nothing more than a cuddle and a scratch between her ears. Her kidneys are failing. She passes what looks like Coke, in very small amounts. She sleeps a lot now, too. Again, I can't let her suffer.
It's hard to say good by to faithful friends. I will miss all of these girls. As my cats age and I no longer breed kittens, I will be doing this more often. Fortunately, we can be kind to our elderly pets. We have the option of "putting them down" when their days become nothing but misery. I will not euthanize any of my cats to "get rid of them". I will do it because I love them enough to say good by in order to ease their suffering.
I love you, girls.

Doors

Doors are wonderful things. They protect us from bugs, varmints, weather, and thugs. They keep little children and animals from wandering outside unattended. They also seem to confuse some folks.
Have you ever needed to run into a store (Wal-Mart or Target, for example) to pick up a couple of things? You have your plan mapped out before you get out of your car. You follow someone else through the door and.......SCREECH!!! That person, or group, comes to a dead halt! Just inside the door! They look around in a daze as if they've never been to such a place before. A look of awe and wonder crosses their face. Add you can't get around them! No matter how hard you try, that person/group gets w i d e r and w i d e r! You're stuck until they decide to take a couple of steps. It's even worse at Christmas. You are at the mercy of the awestruck at every mall or store. Even the local Quickie Mart! All you want is a Diet Coke and you have to turn into a linebacker to get in the door! Arggghhhh!
Elevators, another great invention, have doors. When the doors open, those wanting to get in should wait until those wanting to get off leave. That makes sense. NOPE! Those wanting to get in push their way in leaving those wanting to get off working like a salmon swimming upstream to get out! It's not like the doors will close on you! There's an electric eye that prevents anyone from getting squashed by the door. There's also a "door open" button on the inside that some nice person will push to hold the door open. It's just manners!
When I was growing up, everyone was welcome at our house. "The door is always open" is something that Ma and Pop believed in. For years, the back door was never locked. The 'fridge door was there for anyone to get what they wanted. One morning, one of Russ' friends was taking inventory in the 'fridge. Ma and her mom, who we called Mama, were sitting at the dining room table. Without looking up from the paper, Ma said "Get what you want, get out, and shut the door!". Mama told her that she might want to see who she was yelling at before she said anything, "That one's not yours!". Ma said that any kid who came through her door was "hers" and she treated all of us the same. Years later, even if it's just once a year, some of "hers" still stop by to see her. The door is always open.

Daddy, I'm hot!

Dave and I cut costs wherever we can. We've done it for years. We were cheap years before the current economic crisis hit. When the kids were little, Dave drove a 1967 VW Beetle that was painted about 10 different colors of primer. It was the ugliest car in the world! It was also pretty dependable. Dave could fix it with a bobby pin and duct tape! Our neighbor across the street HATED it! We lived at the end of a dead end street. Dave would always park the bug in the yard at the end of the street, right up against the armco barrier. Mr. Neighbor would stand on his porch and glare at Dave as he walked down the driveway to the front door. One afternoon, a police officer parked in front of our house and studied the ugly bug very carefully. Dave walked out to talk to the officer. Officer Friendly told him that the bug was reported as an "abandoned car". Dave pointed out that the car had a current tag, current inspection,and showed him proof of insurance. Dave explained that the car was just ugly and he wasn't aware of any laws against ugly cars. Officer Friendly laughed, shook Dave's hand, and was on his way. D'ya think Mr. Neighbor called the cops about an "abandoned car"? Hmmmmm.......
One summer afternoon when I was at work, Dave took the kids out to run some errands. 1967 Beetles did not have air conditioning. I think the only option on the car was a radio that worked part time! As they putted around town, Catie said "Daddy, I'm hot."
"Of course you're hot, Cate. It's summer. We're all hot!"
"But Daddy, I'm really hot"
"We're all hot Catherine."
"No, but Daddy, I'm REALLY hot!" (Cate begins to whimper)
"That's enough Catherine. Everybody in the car is hot. The boys aren't whining." (Daddy is losing his patience with his little princess.)
"But Daaaddddeeeeee!!!!"
"Catherine, I don't want to hear any more out of you. It's hot We're all hot. We'll be home soon!"
Catie pouted in the back seat the rest of the way home. The car ride was silent.
When they arrived home, Dave helped Catie out of the back seat. It is important to note here that Catie always wore sundresses in the summer when she was little. When Dave lifted Catie out of the back seat, he noticed that her bottom felt very warm. He set her down (Mr. Neighbor was, of course, watching from his front porch. This part must have been interesting to him!)) and lifted her skirt. Her bottom was bright red! He hustled the kids into the house, then came back out and took the back seat out of the bug. To his horror, there was no box covering the battery (The battery in old bugs was under the back seat, covered by a battery box). Whenever the bug hit a bump, pothole, train track, whatever, the battery terminals came in contact with the springs in the back seat. When contact was made, Catie would get a little shock! She wasn't kidding, she really was hot! Poor little cooked Catie. Poor Dad, he felt guilty for fussing at her.
A little ice cream helped to ease Catie's hurt feelings. A new battery box made sure that she never got that hot again!

Meet Booger

How many cats is too many? I think the correct answer is 21. With the family cats that I am (permanently) fostering, that's how many I have inside. There are 2 of Chris' outside, plus Miss Kitty, our favorite feral. We now have a black momcat and her two kittens. Oh, and Wonky Eyed Cat. Poor wonky, he's been really sick. Last time I saw him, it looked like his face was oozing down his chin! We debated having him put down, but he disappeared before we could catch him. I'm assuming that he went off by himself and died. That would be a blessing because he would definitely not live through the winter.
Booger is one of Black Momcat's babies. He was looking really pathetic last week. His eyes and nose were running and he was on the thin side. What could I do? I couldn't leave him to die when the weather turns cold. I took him to the vet. $125 later, I know that he is Feline Leukemia negative, he has no fleas, and he will need eye ointment and antibiotics for several days. I'd hate to think about how much that vet appointment would have cost if I had neglected to explain that Booger is a feral kitten!
Once we got home, I set Booger up in an isolation cage in the basement. Good food, fresh water, a soft bed and a clean litter box were like Heaven to him (he's a boy, I checked!). He ate a few bites, turned around on his bed, plopped down, sighed and went to sleep. He's been our little patient for about 10 days now. He's gotten chubby, his eyes and nose have cleared, and he's cute as can be. He still hisses when I reach to pick him up, but he doesn't claw or bite. He purrs when his ears are scratched. He's a sweet little boy.
Once he's finished up with his medicine, he'll go back to the vet to be neutered and get his Rabies shot, then he'll return to the wild. If he's like the other ferals who have adopted us, he'll live under the porch when the weather is bad, eat when we put out food, and go into the garage when it gets really cold this winter. What's one more cat, anyway?

Early riser

I woke up at 5:30 this morning. Not a good time to be wide awake since I didn't go to bed till 12:30 this morning. I took the time to do a load of dishes and make pancakes. The boys got breakfast in bed!
Waking up with someone, or something, specific on my mind and not being able to go back to sleep bothers me. I worry about something being horribly wrong with that person. This morning, I woke up thinking about Pop. I was thinking that he should dictate his experiences in WWII, Korea, and Vietnam to Bud so that he could type them up. As those in Pop's generation die, many of the "real" stories of what happened during these wars, the Depression, the post war times will be lost. Every story told has some historical significance.
I called and talked to Ma. Pop is fine. He's painting, something he loves to do. They are debating (arguing) their Sunday School lesson. The subject is :God gives us talents, how do we know if/when/how we should use those talents. I told her that was easy, develop the talents and do whatever your mother says! Sorry, Pop, it sounded like the best answer to me!
Now, back to Pop: He was one of a gaggle of kids. I think there were 11 or 12 born, one boy died as a toddler. Pop was a middle child. His dad worked for the Pennsylvania Railroad. His mom was what they called a "looker" in her day. She was a beautiful girl, fair skinned, blue eyed and blond. I was told that a gypsy fortune teller told Grandmother that she would marry a short man who worked for the railroad and they would have 16 children. Grandmother scoffed at the idea, then married my grandfather; a short man who worked for the railroad! They had 12 live births, 4 miscarriages/stillbirths for a total of 16 children. My oldest cousin, Tom, was a month older than my youngest aunt, Nancy.
Pop and all of his brothers except two served in the military during WWII. One was too young, the other was not eligible for health reasons. After WWII, as I have been told, Pop was supposed to become a Baptist Minister. Instead, he stayed in the Air Force and married a Southern girl. Unfortunately, Ma was no genteel southern lady (she is a lady, but she speaks her mind!). She was not the right type of woman to be a minister's wife! Pop never became a minister. He is a Deacon in their church. I told him that he was chosen because they were running out of men to pick! (It's a joke, OK??)
After he retired from the Air Force, we lived in Greenville, SC. When he got the opportunity to teach ROTC in Charlotte, we moved. They have lived in the same house since 1968. While he was teaching, Pop got his BA in Education and his Master of Arts in Education (MAED). Then, he gave up teaching. He started driving a courier truck, making deliveries and pick ups from banks in North and South Carolina. He was told that he was wasting his education, and he was, but he couldn't work within the conventional "walls" of education. He would tell his students historical accounts based on what he had seen and experienced, not based on what the textbooks said. Not a good career move!
I think Pop enjoyed being a courier. He was able to get out and go, he met a variety of people, and he could talk as much as he wanted. There was a coffee cup waiting for him at each of his regular stops. He kept track of how many miles he logged by the day, week, month, and year. He even discovered where Ma's father was buried on one of his trips.
Pop's military retirement meant that he was at home more when Russ, Thom and I were growing up. When Kathy and Bud were little, he would be gone for months at a time. Pop liked to think he ran a tight ship. His favorite phrase was "I'm gonna cut your heart out and make you eat it!". I used to wonder how long I could live without a heart if I was expected to eat it. Would it be fed to me raw or cooked? How would it taste? I was smart enough not to ask! We had a "duty roster" posted on the refrigerator and inspection was every Saturday morning. Our chores had better be done.....or else! Being grounded was way better than getting a whipping with Pop's belt! Saturdays were great! If we passed inspection, Pop would take us out for lunch and to a variety of "interesting" places like the train station or the airport. He did this to get us out of Ma's hair. Ma didn't see it that way. Instead of using this time to do what she wanted to do, she would clean the house. Then, she would feel resentful because she didn't get to go out. I can understand that, now. In the summer, there was always schoolwork. Math problems to solve and reading to do. Reading was especially important to Pop. He tutored in an adult reading program for years. To Pop, teaching someone to read was like giving them an unlimited gift. It could be used forever. I got my love for reading from Pop. He was an excellent tutor with my kids, niece and nephews, too. It wasn't enough to read a book, we were expected to discuss the story and formulate our own opinions about it.
Dinner time at our house was always interesting. Pop could whistle loud enough that every kid in a five mile radius knew it was time to go home for dinner. When he stood on the porch and whistled, everyone scattered! Several of the neighborhood moms expressed appreciation for Pop's whistle. They never had to yell for their kids, they just waited for the whistle! We always discussed something at supper. Current events, arts, history, or just daily happenings were all fair game. One evening, our political discussion became so heated that our next door neighbor almost called the police! She was afraid we were going to start throwing fists! Everyone was entitled to an opinion and we were encouraged to express ourselves. We were never "wrong" unless we could not support our ideas. No matter what the topic, if we had a logical and rational reason for our opinion, it was accepted. It was not always agreed with, but it was accepted!
When Dave asked for my hand (yes, he actually asked my parents' permission to marry me!), Pop took him to the kitchen. They were away from, but not out of, mine and Ma's ear shot. Pop said, "She's just like her mother. Once you take her out of here, you're not bringing her back!". That was how permission was granted. As he prepared to walk me down the aisle, he said, "This is it. You can go home now, if you want to." Then, we stepped into the sanctuary and walked down the aisle. I saw his joy repeated when he watched Catie walk down the aisle not too long ago. He sure loves flirting with bridesmaids!
Pop enjoyed his grand kids, too. My favorite picture of Pop is when Elliott and Colin were about 9 months old. Pop had a baby on each knee with a box of vanilla wafers between them. Thom's Doberman, Shogun, sat on the floor beside the chair. Each baby would get a cookie, Pop would get a cookie, Shogun would get a cookie. This process repeated itself until the box was empty and everyone, including Pop, was asleep. It was an afternoon well spent. Soon, Pop will get the chance to bounce a great-grand baby on his knee.
When Pop had his stroke, I saw first hand how fragile life can be. Pop gave up coffee, something I never thought he'd do. Right after his stroke, he had to have all liquids thickened to a honey thick consistency. Thick coffee tastes as nasty as it sounds! I would sneak and give him regular ice water, carefully explaining how to swallow so he wouldn't aspirate. I'll bet it tasted like heaven! Pop's loss of independence was depressing for him. To this day, he does not like to have someone take him to the bathroom. Bud is an excellent choice for his caregiver. Pop gives orders and Bud, being a good Marine, takes orders. It works for them. While still slurred a little, Pop's speech has improved. I couldn't imagine a worse affliction for Pop than to be unable to talk! He is still able to teach Sunday School and participate in class discussions. His stroke left him weak on his left side. Fortunately, he is right handed so he can still write and paint. He is still able to work crossword and jigsaw puzzles. Little things help him keep his sanity!
Pop's family expected him to become a minister. He became a teacher instead. He used his experiences to teach high school kids military history. He shared his love of reading with his children and grandchildren. He taught us to have a sense of humor as well as a sense of humility (I brought you into this world, I can take you out and make three more just like you!). He used his love of history and reading to teach us about God. We learned to explore the Bible, not just accept the words at face value. We learned to place ourselves in that time in history and think the way people thought then. We were encouraged to take the written words apart and consider what the author was really saying. Only then could we understand what God was saying to us as individuals.
Pop is not without his faults. He can be stubborn as a mule. He can annoy for the sake of annoying. He can swear like a sailor. With all of his faults, I am sure that, when his time comes, he will hear what we all want to hear: "Well done, good and faithful servant." He has "done good".

Rats

Rats are vermin. They spread diseases and misery. They should not be allowed in the workplace. I'm not talking about the rodent type of rats. I'm talking about tattle tails. Those who can't wait to run to the boss and tell all tales, real, imagined, and embellished, on coworkers. I know who the rats are where I work. They tried to bite me. Sorry, girls, it didn't work.
I was called in to the manager's office the other day. Had to leave the bedside of a patient who was coding. Yes, we were trying to save this patient's life and I was told to stop what I was doing to go to the woodshed! I was told that she had received complaints about me from "many of my coworkers". The complaints ran the gamut from I don't do my own work to I don't help others. She added that patients and families had also complained. I was furious (stupid me, I cry when I'm that furious!)! If there were complaints about me from patients and families, I wanted specifics, NOW! Well, she hadn't gotten any complaints from patients or families about me...........So why bring it up?? The complaint from a coworker (only one complaint, mind you) was a complete and total lie. I told mt boss that and asked if she would bring that person in so I could say it to her face! That wouldn't be necessary. However, If I saw anything, I was encouraged to tell her who and what. I don't like rats.
Our conversation shifted to negative attitudes. Fair cop, I have been negative, as has everyone I work with. Some of the most stable. long term nurses on our unit are doing their best to transfer. We discussed the source of my negativity: scheduling issues (ie: always working short), assignments (some always seem to have the "heavy" assignments while others get off easy), and burn out in general. I felt better after that part of the talk, just because I was able to get my frustration out of my system. It's easy to get sucked into negativity. That's why I tend to pull a chair into the hall where my patients' rooms are and do my work there. Again, I was encouraged to come to her with any reports of wrongdoing on the part of coworkers.
I don't like rats. I don't tolerate rats. I will not be a rat. Rats undermine the good will in any workplace. Rats put one person against another. Rats cause paranoia. Rats cause a lack of trust. Rats shouldn't be encouraged.

Cats eat rats!