Kitty's Tale

I had everything planned.  My list of intentions was proudly hung on the bulletin board above my desk.  I even had mapped out what time I was going to be working on which project.  And then… I got sick.

A cold?  No.  The flu?  I wish.  The doctor’s diagnosis: sinus infection, double ear infection, and bronchitis.  I spent the first 4 days in bed, while my well-laid plans gathered dust.  My head hurt so bad I couldn’t even read.  The puppies tried to cheer me up by playing tug of war with my blankets.  I wallowed in self-pity.

The first time I felt like actually doing something I celebrated with a load of laundry, jeans, to be exact.  But by the time they came out of the dryer, all I could do was lay them across the ironing board so they didn’t get wrinkled.  My thought was to put them away later… maybe after a Nyquil induced nap.  One of the cats yakked on them.  Happy Happy Joy Joy.

My attitude stayed defeated while I religiously took my antibiotic.  How was I going to get out of this miserable mess?  ‘Mind over matter’ doesn’t work when your head feels like it’s stuffed with steel wool.

Day 5: I moved to the recliner, worked on some homework, and got through a chapter of Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books, by Azar Nafisi.  What started out as a couple chapters of required reading had turned into a new found treasure.  Here I was feeling sorry for myself because I was forced to stay in bed.  The women in Nafisi’s book club (more of a class, really) were trapped in their own culture, forced to hide their bodies, and their minds, from the outside world.  I’m only a few chapters into the book, but I can already say that my own troubles are growing smaller as I read further.

When I was growing up, I heard my mother say, “I cried because I had no shoes, until I saw the man who had no feet.”  I understood what she was trying to teach us, but I never really appreciated it until recently.  It’s okay to feel badly when life is rough.  But it’s not okay to stay there.  Cry, get your feelings out, write about it in your journal, acknowledge your suffering.  Then, take a shower, get dressed, and move on.  Don’t let the misery take over.

When I have more energy, I’ll dust off my list of intentions and reschedule my projects.  Right now, I have some jeans to rewash.

Every writer needs a place they can sit down and get the words out.  I used our dining table for years, but I never stopped asking for my own space.  So, my husband eventually built me a beautiful desk.  He listened as I told him what I wanted and the result is exquisite.

Chloe, our elderly Samoyed, stays underfoot to offer her silent support.

The window above my desk faces west.  I do most of my writing in the wee morning hours, so the afternoon Arizona sun isn’t a problem.

I do wish it wasn’t in the family room.  The kitchen is just to the left of this picture, complete with a cutout over the sink that used to be a window into the back patio, but we turned the patio into the family room when we remodeled.  It still beats sitting at the kitchen table!

Tim hung a bulletin board for me to keep my visual aids and notes where I could see them.  Writing my memoir has been difficult because of the time that has passed and having pictures right in front of me really helps.

I had fun putting all of my books into their places.

Emma enjoys climbing on top to snooze in the afternoons.

Little Mia can often be found in with the books.

I love my desk… perhaps too much.

If I’m not at work, I’m either sleeping or at my wonderful desk.  It is my favorite place to be.  Sadly, it currently looks like a hoarder’s warning.

Since our fire, I’ve been better about not adding to the mess, but I haven’t taken much time to remove existing clutter.  That’s the project for this weekend (in addition to the usual homework, shopping, housekeeping, and quality time with my wonderful husband).

Happy Writing!

September 4th started like lazy Sundays usually do.  We slept in, well, Tim slept in.  I was up around 4, wrote a little, did a couple of loads of laundry, and started the dishwasher.  We had 11:30 reservations at our local cinema supper club to see the last Harry Potter film.  It’s out of the big theaters now, and I really wanted to see it on the big screen, so lunch and a movie was the date of the month!

Around 10, I got in the shower.  Tim was awake, but still in bed, having told me I better hustle if we were going to make it to the theater on time.  While rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I heard Tim talking, assumed he was hurrying me along, and playfully hollered back, “What?  Do you want to come in?”  No response.  I heard more talking…  He wasn’t talking to me after all.

As I stepped out of the shower, Tim ran past the bathroom door, going into the bedroom.  Two seconds later he ran the other direction, and out the backdoor.  He was talking as he passed; all I heard was “…fire…”

While I was lathering, rinsing, and repeating, Zach was making his breakfast.  The outlet next to the toaster (where nothing was plugged in) caught fire.  Zach quickly got the fire extinguisher out from under the kitchen sink and pretty much emptied it in the direction of the flames.  He yelled for Tim and what I saw was Tim running in to get his shoes, then running out to turn off the kitchen breakers.  Everything was under control, there was very little damage, thanks to Zach’s fast reaction.

In July, we had a large haboob roll through.  For those of you that don’t live in the desert, a haboob is a dust storm that descends upon an area as a wall of dust that looks like a tsunami.

The dust was everywhere and the dry conditions kept it swirling in the air for days.  I had turned off the power to the smoke alarms because the dust kept setting them off.  I had also removed all of the back-up batteries, to prevent the chirping that the alarms used to alert us when the power was off.

We are pretty sure that the outlet shorted out, but nothing was plugged into it at the time.  Tim replaced the melted outlet, Zach started to clean up the residue powder from the fire extinguisher, and I put new batteries in all the smoke alarms and turned the breaker back on.  I shudder to think what could have, would have, happened if Zach hadn’t been in the kitchen at the time.  I bought a new fire extinguisher and put it in the cabinet under the sink.  It’s right up front, not buried behind the half empty cleaner bottles.

As we continued cleaning up the fine powder that the fire extinguisher, I looked around at our home.  We aren’t hoarders, but we do have more stuff than we need.  There are boxes of Zach’s stuff in the living room that need to go into storage.  The dining room table is covered with stacks of magazines and old mail.  Spice bottles line the counter tops, only a third of which ever get used.

The fire was a wake-up call to me to get my priorities in order.  My days are already filled to the brim, but if I can find time to plant myself in front of the television, I can chisel an hour a day out for cleaning and organizing and purging.  With Peter Walsh’s organizing book tucked into my stack of homework, I’m preparing to make a life change in how I live.  Goodbye, cluttered house.  Hello, peaceful home.

Most people say, “Have a nice day.”  Some go a little further with, “Have a great day!”  I often wonder if they are saying it out of habit or because they really want things to go well for you.

One drizzly morning, as I pulled up to the Starbucks drive-thru, I was greeted by a bright smile and a cheerful “It’s a beautiful morning!”  I agreed; I love the rain.  Living here in Arizona, we don’t see much of it, so I treasure every bit, from the shower of sprinkles that sticks the dust to the car, to the violent storms with their awesome light shows and thunderous applause.

All through that day, I kept thinking about that short conversation as I listened to my co-workers grumble about the weather.  There aren’t any windows near my cubicle, so I kept walking to the door to check on the sky.  The rain eventually stopped, the sun chased the clouds away, and the parking lot simply danced with sparkles!  Every rain drop on every car reflected the sunshine and the effect was dazzling.  The moisture had removed the pollution from the air and you could see everything in perfect detail.

Later that week, all traces of moisture were gone.  The vibrant weeds that had appeared the day after the storm had since withered and dropped their now faded blossoms.  The wind felt like sandpaper; the air was thick with dust.  As the sun headed for the horizon, the sky became an artist’s inspiration.  Puffy clouds of orange and pink posed before a backdrop of red, purple, and blue, streaked with the last golden rays of sunshine.  The mountains stood proudly, supporting the weight of the rainbow sky on their black silhouettes.

So, if I tell you to have a beautiful day, I mean it.  It’s okay to take the time to look for the good; I promise you will find it.  And if you need help, just ask.  I’d love to show you the world though my eyes.

Have a beautiful day!