No Need to Thank Me

I'm really not a morning person, but I'm a little more excited to get out of bed these days as I now have a morning visitor. A beautiful black and white cat comes to my back door every morning to eat. I believe he belongs to one of my neighbors, you know - the house with the great big dog and seven kids and a drive full of cars? I seem to remember when they first got him two or three years back. He would wander over into our yard on a regular basis and I wasn't sure I liked him hanging around the bird feeders, but one day I walked out to the garden shed to get a shovel and startled him out of a sound sleep. He ran for the back of our yard and despite all of my apologies, would not come back to his napping spot. The same thing happened the next day, except I took food with me and started calling to him long before I got to the shed. I stopped as soon as I saw him - you know, just to let him know I meant him no harm. He still ran away, but did come back later to accept my peace offering.

It was back in the fall when he and I began this dance and every day, I would take food to him out in the barn and every day, he would watch and wait for me to leave to come and eat. I fed him through the winter and when it got cold, I began leaving the garage door open and leaving food for him there. I made a bed for him inside a box and even put a heating pad in it. Every morning when I opened the door from the house to the garage to take him breakfast, he would dart out the door and wait for me to put down his food and go back inside before coming in to eat.

I've really grown fond of this boy despite the fact that I still can't touch him after almost a year of feeding him. These days find me feeding him on the patio behind the garage. We've done away with the bed in the garage since it's not so cold any more. The bigger reason for his ban from the garage are his 'presents'. My darling husband has had to remove more than one tiny lifeless body from our garage floor and he does not like it. Mark loves the wildlife in and around our home and does not like the idea of Pablo, that's what I call him, Pablo, coming in and killing the little mice and chipmunks who take cover in our garage. I really can't say that I blame him as it would tear me up to be the one to find the tiny creatures. So, Pablo now eats behind the garage and naps in a box near the back door.

I went out several nights ago when it was raining and left the garage door open for him. Ban or no ban, I couldn't bear the idea of him being locked out of his own house with no place to go to get out of the rain. I knew he might bring something in ... and in that moment, I realized that he's not coming in to kill the vermin, he's bringing them in. These are his gifts! I laughed to myself - and at Pablo and said out loud, Really, Pablo, there's no need to thank me. Your presence and your enjoyment of the food is plenty thanks for me.

As I moved throughout my day, I thought about what I'd said and I wondered about my gifts to God and Goddess. I thought about the fierce sincerity of Pablo's offerings and how it's the sentiment I appreciate, while the gift itself brings me no joy - how his mere presence and enjoyment of the food I give him is really all the thanks I need. I wondered in that moment if Goddess ever looks at my offerings and says, Really, there's no need to thank me. Your presence and enjoyment of all I provide is plenty thanks for me.

Home Stretch

I'm finally in the home stretch of spring semester. One more week and I'm done. I'm amazed to have actually come this far and, at the same time, grateful to still be standing. Some days, I've felt that was all I had to be thankful for - the 'still standing' part. I never imagined this endeavor consuming so much of my attention, like a huge, hungry monster devouring every bite of my energy in big, messy mouthfuls. Some days have left me feeling completely defeated, like the day my Fingerspelling teacher signed to me that I should really consider something other than interpreting. Hey, that was encouraging. Or the day my cell phone went off in the middle of a mid-term. (I still bury my face in my hands when I think about that day.) My phone was hidden deep in my bag and I couldn't decide which would be worse, to let it ring a couple more times disrupting the class or to go after it and interrupt my instructor, who was in the middle of signing a story and since she's deaf, was oblivious to the disruption. Yeah, that was a bad day, too.

There are moments when I feel so accomplished, like yesterday when I FINALLY got back two perfect scores on the final quizzes of the semester. There are even more days when I feel like my progress this semester has been less than ideal. My friend, AJ, suggested that I've learned more than I realize. I wonder if he's right about that. I wonder if all the signs I've seen and concepts I've worked to understand are floating around up there somewhere waiting to take shape on my hands.

She Must Be Off Her Rocker

My niece, Rebecca, writes a blog. I love reading her tales of life as a woman striving to balance life and motherhood and self. She's a great writer - she's funny and insightful and when I read her posts, I feel like she's writing just to me. I love that girl. Rebecca suggested I start a blog - even got creative with naming it. She so graciously encourages me, seeming to dismiss the very real possibility that my posts might be bad - or worse yet, just plain boring. Yet Rebecca insists that writing and running are the two things that keep her sane. (While I fear that to take up running would only serve to prove that I really am insane, I'm not sure which is scarier - running or writing. Writing is so …. out there! Just a huge scary monster.)

She truly does inspire me, though. How she finds time to blog - let alone find the energy to have a thought about which to write - leaves me wondering why it is that I can barely find time to do my laundry. But, find time she does and does it all quite well. Until recently, that is. It seems this remodeling project may have eaten up her final ounce of energy. Oh, sadness. What on earth will I do without my regular dose of Rebecca Off Her Rocker?