today

No organizing, just errands. 

First stop was to pay what I hope is the final dollars that I will have to pay my attorney.  She is amazing, but like a spouse with expensive hobbies, I simply cannot afford her.  The receptionist and I have become friendly, and she thanked me for the note I sent that included her in my thanks for everything that everyone there has done for me during the past eighteen months. 

Yeah, eighteen months.  So much for a speedy divorce.  She shared some of her first marriage with me, and it just was such a huge trigger to hear about how terrible that marriage was.  Every time I think that I am fine, that none of this stuff can knock me to my knees, it does.  She has been married to a great man for the past thirty-five years, but she shared that she still has nightmares and the rare moment when something causes her to remember that earlier time.

The worst is over, and unless...until...he sends someone after me again, I am pretty much done with anything involving him.  I think that he is such a coward that the chances of him showing up with anyone is remote.  Still, it is clear that recovery and healing are securely in my future, the only aspect that is secure.  What a mess.

Then I went to the library where I learned that the book I cannot find will cost $44.00 to replace if I never can find it.  Good to know, I guess.

Next, on the way to the pharmacy I heard a commercial on the radio for condoms.  I do not ever remember hearing a commercial for condoms before, but the best part was when the person said that they are dribble tested.  That made me crack up.  On my way back to the prescription counter at the pharmacy, I passed through the aisle where the condoms were hanging displayed, and stopped to see if they would actually put that claim on the package.  Well.  The safety claim is that they are triple tested.  Lordy.

Bank next, which is in a grocery store.  By this time I was exhausted, so even though the food there is the most expensive in town...except for the health food store - if you buy food there you cannot afford anything else...I decided that, after being greeted by the amazing fruit and vegetables as I walked in the door, that I would shop there and then go straight home.  I passed on a lot of items because I can buy them so much more less expensively at Aldi and the dollar stores, but I do have some great fruit and meat. 

I rarely eat pork, but thick chops were on sale and I am going to brine them tomorrow, so I bought two of them.  I can hardly wait.  I rarely eat food of this nice quality, so through the weekend there will be some super duper eating happening here.  I also bought hot sausage to make soup with the kale and potatoes that need to be used this week. 

My garden is doing well.  There are lots of ripe tomatoes on the bush with no name.  I think they might be an old style cherry tomato, as they are golf ball in size and have thick skins.  Very old style.  The Krims are getting big, but it has been very cool here for weeks and weeks.  It needs to be hot, hot, hot again for them to really grow and ripen, especially this close to the lake.  Lots of bell peppers getting bigger every day, teeny tomato bush doing well, and the zucchinis are glorious.  I already have enough to keep giving some away each week.  I can hardly wait until I get sick of them so that I can eat the blossoms.

CoolCat is, well, I do not know what he is.  He had an extensive and expensive check up last week and is fine, but he is behaving weirdly.  I know that he is old-ish, but today he did not even wake up when I arrived home.  I am hoping that he is simply slowing down and will still be here for a very long time.  He is the most wonderful cat I have ever had the privilege to know.  I will do whatever is best for him, whatever that may take, whenever it may happen, but it cannot be soon.  It just cannot.

Oh, well, time to make sure that his water and food dishes are full to the top.  Then some brushing and more playing with the rubber snake.  Then, he gets to snore and fart next to me in bed whilst I try to read. 

shame

I am so easily and willingly choosing shame as a default for just about any difficult or uncomfortable thing that happens.  I gather my courage to do something new, take a risk of some minor nature and on the rare occasions when nothing bad happens, I am so relieved that no negative consequences follow.

Risk taking, as a part of accepting responsibility for my mental illness, was one of the foundation skills on which I focused at the training earlier this month.  Taking risks is hard for most people, but that is only a guess because I am not a member of that population.  I think, most days, that I would like to be a member there, but that just ain't gonna happen.  My mental illness sometimes isolates me in ways beyond my control.  It is not that I am more comfortable in the company of other ill people, it is my awareness of how differently I might react to all of the normal aspects of interactions, all that perilous face-to-face stuff.  Landmines and grenades litter my landscape

But, back to shame.  Criticism knocks the beans out of me every time.  I recover more quickly these days, but...but...but, no matter how much work I do in this area, no matter how benignly it is expressed, no matter how clearly I can see that taking the risk in the first place was a supremely stupid idea, I feel the sting of having failed in what I wanted to do, having failed in my intent.  And, I shame spiral.

I started using shame spiraling to describe this process decades ago and only learned that it is an actual and valid term.  I know, because I Google-d it yesterday.  Good thing, as I took a risk yesterday and was rewarded with a chastisement for it this morning.  It is not as though what I tried was bad in any way; it was not.  And, it is not as though I know the person all that well, which I do not.  I do not even care that she felt the need to slap me down a bit.  I most especially do not care that she chose to do it in a slightly snarky way, you know, that subtle sarcastic, 'oh, I'm only mentioning this to help you' way. 

All right, I do care.  I care a lot.  And, I accept the entire responsibility for feeling this way.  I took the risk, knowing that it was risky, knowing that I would most likely have someone who thought what I shared (it is a free on-line product, if that matters) was stupid. 

More importantly, I took that risk with full knowledge and acceptance of the hazards of doing so, as an exercise in facing my fears about being dismissed or criticised.   Yay, me.

My plan for today is to use my relatively quick recovery and the energy it produced to tackle more of the unpacking.  I chose to add in some organizing yesterday and now have several boxes/bins of art stuff to which I can keep adding.  It finally dawned on me that I was duplicating the effort by just shelving stuff without parsing it out somehow.  The process is inelegant, but it is working, and I have a more than excellent chance of being able to find things when I need them.

I am slowly learning that shame is a completely appropriate feeling and response when it is earned by doing or saying something truly stupidalicious.  Some day I hope to ratchet that down to simple embarrassment.

Shame is not appropriate when I use it to reinforce my feelings of inadequacy or to limit what I am willing to do.  Or try.  Or risk.

Large image wise, this is an equally large forward movement.  An actual leap into the healing and recovery stratosphere.  Yay, me.

On a less comfortable note, CoolCat has been vomiting more.  He checks out just fine, physically, but I fear that he is still caught in the thrall of our experiences from the other life.  His food issues are increasing; anytime his food bowl is not filled to the brim, he panics.  All of his bodily functions are in working order, and I am glad for that, but the emotional vomiting is very distressing to me.  I feel sorry for him and how he is suffering, but I am feeling sorry for myself as well.  I do not have extra sheets to put on the bed when he spews in the middle of the night, or even when he manages to upchuck on the floor and I do not notice it until I get up in the morning and find myself flying ass over teakettle.

Petty, yes.  Unloving, absolutely.  CoolCat is only 14 years old, but that other life, how he was neglected by my ex after I fled has informed who both of us are today.  I am going out today to buy a bunch of those cheap, flannel-backed tablecloths.  I will put them over the bed and furniture whenever I leave.  Just in case he is not long for this life, I will be spending more time with him, just hanging out, playing and grooming him.  The grooming benefits both of us and there is never a time or moment when he will not become fully engaged in the brush and comb and me. 

I think I might go and do just that right now.  The tablecloths can wait until tomorrow.

testing

I do not test well.  I am smart, at least as smart as the proverbial cookie, and I love to learn.  I can remember a stunning amount of just about everything.  Even at the library, one of the staff will ask me to provide a word or quote or factoid of some kind. 

I love learning.  It keeps my brain all juiced up.  I like that.  Crappy body, but great mind.  Even as I age, my memory and faculties are better than most of my friends, and that is not just hubris talking.

So, anyway, this weekend was the scheduled time to take the examination for certification for the training I took earlier this month to become a Peer Specialist.  It is a pretty cool thing, something that I already do in a more casual way and a set of skills that interest me more than I can express.  Seriously, I can be rendered speechless on occasion. 

The schedule for the exam to be available was from last Thursday morning until tomorrow at 5:00 p.m. 

I thought I was prepared. 

I was not.

That thing was a killer.  There was one question about the twelve building blocks of recovery for which I drew a complete and utter blank.  I wrote that as the beginning of my answer and then just went ahead and started thinking and typing, sitting back, thinking, typing.  The testing people suggested that because computers can be weird, that it might be a good idea to copy and save our answers to the test, and I did that.  I was so bummed and had the beginnings of a decent headache when I finished, so I have not gone back to read what I wrote for that question.  I just pulled recovery mumbo-dumbo-jumble out of my ass and tried to choose aspects of my own recovery for that. 

Truth is, I had to do that more than a few times.  Another truth is that I wrote too much for some of the questions and the chances are excellent that I totally fucked up.  In my heart I believe that I did a credible job, that I will easily meet the 70 % minimum correct answer level, but I have this sinking, terrible, total shipwreck feeling that I will be retaking the exam sometime next year.  Just writing this is making my head throb all over again.

That exam was so freaking hard!!!!!!!!!!!!!   Arrrrrrgh!  I am still so distressed by the whole experience that I cannot sleep and 3:00 a.m. is too late to take any antihistamines in an attempt to get any decent rest tonight.  This morning now.

I was so rattled that I went around the place, looking for cash so that I could order in some comfort Chinese food or a dozen pizzas for dinner.  I had enough money for some of that, minus most of the pizzas, but it was too difficult to decide what I wanted, place an order and wait for delivery.  So, I had popcorn.  It was really, really delicious.  Were I not stunningly salted to the top of my aching head, I would make some more; it was that good. 

After I decided to pop dinner, my next thought was to try to contact one of the people with whom I took the training and for whom I have developed a fondness.  I did not, even though restraint is not one of my strengths, but I avoided delivery dinner and I figured I could find a way to not bother him; he probably does not even remember me anyway, I though.

So, full of fluffy kernels, lips a little raw from the salt, I settled down to play games on my computer.  When, what to my surprise and delight, that guy messaged me and share a bit about his experience with the exam.  Or, is it just a test?  Who care.  Seriously.

Anyway, I messaged back, but it must have been a type-and-run, because he never answered back.  But, he is not safe from me, as I am dedicated to not suffer alone with this testing/examining/calculated to make crazy people even crazier day.  I swear by all I hold holy, that I will not suffer alone.   Oh.  Wait.  I forgot that I am struggling with all that holy jazz.  Well, I swear by something.  I do.  Swear.

Now to bed, perchance to read myself into oblivion.  Or, at least a short nap before I have to finish all that organizing tomorrow.

losses

I hate to keep revisiting this whole damn issue of loss.  What I have gained, this new life, hell, my life.  CoolCat and I have a decent place to live, enough food, no extras but we really do not need anything other than what is now here.

I mostly play games on a social media site and chat or annoy some of my friends, one of whom lives in a state near to me.  It is her birthday next week.  I still have time to send a card to her, maybe one of the bracelets or something.  Thinking about what I would choose or make for her was really pleasant.  You know, like the sort of thing someone normal, someone with a normal life would do.  I like this thing about being normal.  I am still not sure that I will ever understand what normal for me is, probably just like everyone else. 

Normal is an obfuscation used to confuse and control and frustrate the proletariat so that they will be sufficiently occupied and unable to notice all the crap spewing from the self-proclaimed elite, which used to be just rich folk and is now mostly politicians, most of whom are stupidly rich anyway. 

Shit.  Where the heck did that come from?  Whatever, there is no normal (except for the spewed stuff) beyond whatever each of us decides for ourselves.  My normal is not the normal for anyone else.  Oh, sure, we plebs do our best to connect with one another. Yeah, doing our best.

I think that I am doing a fairly good job at discovering what my life and what normal can be for me.  And, a part of that today was noticing the birthday of my friend.  Thinking about what to send to her.

Then, I did something stupid.  Under the notation of her birthday there was a place to pull up more events.  One was for another friend who play semi-pro football and after a few more birthday listings there were two in a row for a nephew and a niece.  They are from my ex's family, his sisters' children.

I cannot believe that they have not removed me from their list of contacts, as other people on that side of the family have.  My best guess is that they have forgotten that we hold this weird, electronic connection.  Most of the time I forget it.  I just miss them so much.  I would give away another ten looms, more than a million easels or kilns or any of the things that helped me to survive for all those years, if it would bring those people back into my life.

That will never happen.  My ex is their brother, uncle and great-uncle.  His is family, their real family.  I am not.  I am the person who left without any notice, who disappeared, who eventually divorced him.

They are not privy to any of the details, much less the truth.  Well, except for one of his sisters and her husband.  I asked them for help six months before I left.  I tried so hard to find resources to help us, but the only people to whom I reached out were the two of them.  Even though they did not have the entire saga of those decades, I did share that I was afraid for my life and I begged them for help is getting my ex into therapy or treatment or something, anything to help us, for certain, but mostly because I knew that I would die if nothing was done.

Those last months, always I guess, whenever I tried to bring up finding some help for our marriage, he refused.  When our daughter was struggling in school I was able to convince him to attend the counseling sessions that she and I had.  He went once, raged about it, claiming that it was an attempt to discredit him and destroy him.  Things were worse for a while.  I never asked him for anything again.

I understand that the family is important for them, mostly because he has had very little to do with them for most of his life.  It was only after we married that he ever saw them.  It was not often, but I could occasionally coax him into going to a holiday or something.  So, I really do understand that, finally, he was involved with them.  It took me leaving and everyone being unable to find me that brought him back into their lives.  So, that is a good thing.

Maybe it seems selfish to still long to have them in my life.  It cannot happen.  They cannot be disloyal.  They know only what he has told them, something I do not know, although I have my suspicions, having learned over the years what he told other people about me, lies to cover what was happening, lies over which he sometimes tripped, revealing them to me.  Apologizing.  Going on to more, perhaps better, lies.

I cannot entirely fault him for lying.  I did it as well.  I lied by never telling anyone what was happening.  I lied every time I made excuses for the times he refused to be a part of the lives of his sisters and their families.  I was a damn fine at lying, so fine that no one suspected a thing.  Even now I have never spoken to any of them.  The only contact we have had was in court at the final hearing, where more lies were told about me.  Lies to which my attorney wanted me to respond.  I could not, did not.  And, as we all left the courtroom, that sister and my ex threatened my life.  I did not hear what they said, but my attorney, his attorney and two of my friends who refused to stay away that day heard everything.  One of them still brings it up once in a while, so shaken was she by the experience.  It pains me, but I let her talk it out each time; she was assertive enough to come that day, something for which I will always be grateful and will never be able to repay.

Whilst we, my attorney, those friend, and myself, were in a conference waiting, my ex's attorney came in and told us that they had lied in court and that he would have to file a letter with the court stating that.  When I received the divorce documents, a copy of that letter was part of the paperwork.

Even though I never asked for anything, let him take everything except for what he did not want, I think that that letter might be the final thing that finished off my relationship with all of them.  I will never stop missing them.  I rarely think about my ex unless that is triggered by remembering something concerning his sister and all the rest of them.  He comes into my mind by default.

After I read of those two birthdays I went and splashed cool water on my face and washed my hands and looked at myself in the mirror.  All I could see in my eyes was all of that loss.  I have not properly grieved many things, many aspects of that other life, and losing family is one more burden, one more sadness.

It is interesting that this is happening today.  It comes following my work with Sister, my spiritual counselor, followed by a conversation with my therapist about my impatience in the progress of crafting this new life, which was then followed by the support group, where we discussed how we would help or advise a theoretical new group member who was not able to forgive anyone for anything.

Yes, I had a busy day yesterday, and every thing that happened built on the previous things.  I struggle with the all the time.  I have forgiven my ex for everything that happened.  Even though I do not know any of the3 details over there, I have forgiven the members of his family who loved me as much as I loved them.  Or, maybe I have forgiven myself for effectively abandoning them without any word from me.  It is complicated.  I have even begun to forgive myself for being such a successful liar.  I have come so far and still have so much more work to do. 

Even though I cannot send cards to my nephew and niece, or call them or send them bracelets, I am going to be brave and remember them on their birthdays.  I am not willing to forget them.  They will always be my family.  Always.

life is delicious

Especially when you come home from a long day of having your head and intellect challenged.  Oh, the heart gets its share as well.


The best, yummy part of yesterday was harvesting...should such a thing be possible in a 1-foot-square garden...some young zucchinis and six tomatoes.  I finished the last four this morning for lunch.

The tomatoes are from the mystery plant that I bought on sale.  It came with lots of little, green tomatoes on it and I began to worry about how they were not getting much bigger as the weeks and tender loving care went on.  They were already larger than cherry tomatoes when I bought the plant, but too small to be regular tomatoes.  When picked yesterday, they were nicely red, but still really small.  Golf ball sized, or maybe marginally bigger. 

They were so small that I was able to balance one on the top of my back flat neighbor's door knob.  Their skin is thick, so that must mean that tons and tons of vitamins and minerals and other good stuff are safely tucked under there.  The taste was very nice.  But, for flavour, I am waiting for the Krims, in my opinion one of the most wonderfully delicious tomatoes.

There are lots of greenies on the cherry tomato plant and lots of bell peppers growing.  As usual, the parsley is glorious.

Spiritual counseling was fine.  I do not know where this is going, or has the potential to go, but it is very helpful to have a place and person where I can talk all of this out.  Sister has some excellent insights about what I am feeling and have experienced over the past few years.  I can hardly believe that this began, the actual day, nearly eighteen months ago.  I have been settle here for nearly a year.  Amazing.

Anyway, I was able to figure out and articulate some of the things I do not want. 

I do not want to be born again. 
I do not want to be part of a church that is wildly patriarchal.
I do not want to be part again of a church where women do not have the opportunity to have a more active and proactive and leadership role in their church community.
I do not want to be a member of a church that is not invested in both philosophy and practice in the larger community, or does not have outreach and neighborhood/city projects.

So, that is a beginning. 

And, whilst I am attracted to the Baptist church I have attended, I think that the general beliefs held and practiced there are what I like, but it is a more physical-focal church practice than might be comfortable for me.  I like being there, but, well, I am just not sure.  I think that something more meditative might be a better fit.

There are six churches, a synagog and a Masonic center within walking distance of my home, not that I will be actually walking to any of them.  I can hear the bells from some of them, and I mention the Masonic place only because it is so beautiful.   It is my plan to visit one or two in the next few weeks. 

When I visit my daughter and am there on Sunday mornings, I attend services with them.  I like it a lot.  It is some kind of non-denominational church, but I know many of the songs, and it is easy to settle into the rhythms of those that are new to me; besides, they have songbooks.  One of the times I attended that church, after the service I was choosing something yummy from the baked goods that they offer for their casual meeting time; if they have an official name for it, but it is nice to meet those people.  A woman approached me, as many members do, and I thought she was going to give me the regular "Nice to meet you.  Are you thinking of joining our church?"  Instead, she told me that she liked my singing and invited me to join the choir.  I mention this not because I have a good voice, which I do not, it is plain, like my appearance.  I share it only because it is a lovely example of how accepting and welcoming and non-pushy or evangelical the church members are.

As for the rest of this journey, I really do not know if I will be able to find a decent fit in town here.  Now that have begun serious examination of where I am in my spiritual life, I am having the random thought that I might already be close to where I need to be.  But, I will never know unless I get out there and meet people and respectfully observe and share their practices.

In the meantime, I will continue to weed and water my garden, consider where my life might want to go and take my certification test this weekend.  Maybe roll over for a nap.  CoolCat would like that.  Maybe put up some more shelving and do more organizing and divesting.  Maybe sit on the porch and watch the tomatoes not grow.

faith revisitation

Tomorrow morning is my second visit with the spiritual adviser.  My spiritual adviser, I guess.

Right now I am sitting at my desk, trying to catch up on work stuff and through the open window, as I begin to write about this, I can hear the bells of one of the nearby churches.  Within walking distance, which for me is not much more than six blocks, are five churches and one synagogue.

With all of this wealth surrounding me, I would have thought that visiting at least a few of them might be helpful in regaining some sense of faith or divinity.  But, when the thought comes to do that, those Sunday mornings when I am up, ready for the day and have no excuses for not doing what I believe would be, if not immediately helpful to this particular process, a nice way to spend the morning, amongst the company of other people who have some connection to the greater-than-self, I stay home. 

But, even though the attraction to attend, the pull to be among other like-minded people is strong, I stay home.

It is worth remarking that since our first visit, my attention is being drawn to all kinds of spiritual reports.  Some on the news, but nearly of of them in fiction that I am reading.  In one book, the catalyst character, a small child is saved by a nun, who does so in opposition and a tiny bit of obfuscation with her fellow sisters.  In another, the main character in a long serious of books is motivated by all things spiritual, including residing with monks as part of his journey.  I have always noticed this aspect of the novels, and I am guessing that being proactive about this in my own life is making that resonate for me a bit more strongly.

Those are more positive in nature, but I am also reading things that do not make sense to me.  One character, in an entirely different book, states that we are never alone, that God is always holding us in His awareness, and that even when we are suffering greatly, that He suffers along with us.  That it is our lack of patience, understanding and acceptance that increases our suffering and distress.  That even if our suffering never abates, that we should find comfort in simply knowing that we are not alone.

Sure.

There were a couple more things that caught my attention, that were similar to that.  I think that this is where I am now diverging from what seemed like a natural part of my life, that belief and the feelings that I was always connected to something greater than myself.  I have always believed that it was impossible to look at the face of another person, look into their eyes and not be able to believe that there was a creator.

I still believe in a creator, but my personal connection to anything else is gone.  There is not a hole where those beliefs used to be, just, oh, an awareness that they are gone.

I know when this began.  It was when I was living in the shelter.  Living there was the beginning of every good part of my new life.  I truly cannot express how essential that experience was in the next step in saving my life.  I am still involved there.  But, listening to so many of the women share that their strength was with God and that only He was the catalyst for their breaking free from their abusers or whatever circumstances led them to be homeless.

If you believe, good things will happen.
If you pray and trust, God will take care of you and all your needs.
Live in the Lord and everything will be fine.
All you have to do is accept Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior and all things will be possible.
Trust in God and everything will work out.
If God can do this for me, He can do it for you; all you need to have is faith.
We do not have to know what God's plans are for us, all we have to do is believe.
Even if your prayers are not answered, you can rest in his grace because he always knows what is happening to you.
God can deliver you from everything.

I do not have any problem with any of those statements or beliefs.  Each one is useful to someone, lots of someones.  There is nothing dangerous or damaging in any of them.  I mean, if your life works out better, then they can be a comforting and supporting part of that recover.  If things do not get better, or even get worse, one's belief in any of them could be helpful in simple getting through, surviving.

Really, they cannot fail, if you have faith in them.  I suppose that they are equally helpful to those who do not hold strong or strict beliefs.  So much of life, especially the crappy parts, can seem random if one is not paying attention, which is the level of awareness of practically everyone.  I know this because I am a member of the practically everyone community.

Even if one is paying attention, they still can be helpful, supportive, comforting and hold some bit of resonance.  One of the many beliefs I still hold is that nothing is wasted.  Not any experience, thought, practice or event, no effort or heart or struggle is wasted.  Everything is valuable.

I believe in the inherent goodness of people.  I am not so sure that I believe that some people can be evil in and of themselves, but it is my firm belief that even ordinary, well-meaning folk can do evil things, and that really crappy people can do lots of really crappy evil stuff.

I believe in a kind and loving Universe, which should seem to naturally translate or move into belief in a God of some kind, but for me it does not.  My Universe is more scientific in nature, and whilst good people and good deeds, behaviors and practices can properly exist in a scientific theory, having a God fits nicely, but it is not essential.

So, off I go to meet with Sister tomorrow morning.  I am open, eager even to talk to her and learn whatever she has to teach me or share with me.  I want this.  I need it.  I am not yet desperate for it, but I see the potential for getting to that state.

Then, therapy, followed by group and the laundry really, really needs to be done, and some health stuff needs purchasing and my Internet provider bill needs paying, and if I am not exhausted I will do a bit of grocery shopping and come home to collapse.  If I am exhausted, I can already hear the siren call of the drive-through or other fast food options being a viable option.  I totally have faith in that. 

memory

CoolCat has been acting weird.  He used to insist on pre-sleep cuddling.  Now he approaches, looks at me and then, after a long period of seeming indecision, settles down close, but not next to me.  I can only think that he might have been sleeping close to me one night and I must have rolled over on him.  If that happened, I do not remember it, and it might be totally off track, but I cannot think of any reason for this change.

He has also been much more vocal.  He was a talker from kittenhood, but the past month or it appears that he is training for the next Senate filibuster. This has been going on for months, and I sort of attributed it to a combination of nearly crushing him and the higher summer temperatures.  I will never know because whilst his English is excellent, I have never been able to master most of Cat.

I also occasionally do bodily assessments to see if he is experiencing any pain.  He does have a bit of arthritis that we manage...should that even be possible...with supplements, but it could be getting worse.  This is important to do, especially for an geriatric cat, because cats are stunningly stoic.  I remember cats coming to our shelter with serious wounds and broken bones, even with major breaks where a bone end would protrude from the skin.  It is a survival behavior.  And, purring cannot be an accurate assessment of well-being, as cats often purr when severely injured.

He has no body issues, nothing that would indicate pain.  I gingerly manipulated his joints without any response, not even purring. :)  He does not have any tender areas.  He continues to jump up, in decreasing height, on our very high bed, his scratching thing and furniture, without any hesitation or apparent discomfort.  He loves to be brushed and combed, particularly with the stripping comb.  So, I have no idea what is going on.  I guess that as long as his checkups are good and he continues to have food and water pass through his system with regularity, he continues to elicit play and petting, his sleep continues to be normal, that I should just relax.

I most likely will not stop watching for signs of distress, but I should probably stop contorting him every time he starts speechifying.

In the process of organizing and divesting all of my old crap, the stuff that was in storage, I came across a familiar, red container.  I think it is some kind of Rubbermaid (my clear favorite of reusable containers) bowl and brought it out for CoolCat to see.

I held it up and called his name.  He looked at me and the container and in a moment perked his little ears as he recognized it.  He came running, well, more like waddling, another story, mewing all the while, just like he does when he catches a glimpse of my necklace and want it for playing.

Yes, catmint, the big, red catmint bowl.  Oh, cool.  I opened the lid, grabbed a big pinch of the fragrant leaves (even I love the smell of catmint, so sweet) and crumbled it on the floor.

That is the way he likes it.

He will tolerate the compressed pellets in a soft toy, but his favorite form is as he had it today.

Every once in a while he would look up at me.  Once in a while I would stroke his neck.  It took a while.  He does not rush the experience like Lilith or Ricky did, nor does he feel the need to grind the crumbles mint into his coat like Tucker preferred.

He just ate it, gave a quick rub of his cheek in the remaining flakes, leaving most of it still on the floor, wandered over to where I was watching him with such pleasure of my own, and then jumped up on his favorite chair and has been dozing for the past couple of hours.

It has been a year and a half since he has seen that bowl, or had any of the stuff inside.  I have been making little, tied packages of the catmint pellets...a supremely wonderful product by the way, which you can buy on-line at my favorite pet supply store. 

Eighteen months, and it took only a heartbeat for CoolCat to remember it and what it contained.  Only another heartbeat for him to enjoy that little pile of ecstasy.

And, as I was sitting and watching him enjoy his catmint, I was struck, like a real poke in the pokey-parts, how powerful memory is.  All it takes is a scent or a sound or a word and we are back in the moment.  Provoked into the past.  Watching him sent me back to that other life, in a pleasant memory of CoolCat and our other cats and how much fun they were, the companionship and stimulation to be involved they gave me.

And, I thought, well, this is a good memory, one worth holding.  Surely there must have been other times when things were not so bad, and the truth is that there are plenty, more than I could share.  My next thought, in My Spiral of Remembering, is that my perceptions are skewed, that all of the bad stuff was not as bad as I make it, that I misunderstood and misinterpreted and all that old, familiar jazz.

And, then I remember that most of those pleasant and practically happy memories were sandwiched in between the bad stuff.  The true bad stuff.  And, once again, memory has taken me from a pleasant moment to other pleasant memories to self-doubt and shame at not being what someone else wanted me to be, even though that was never possible, to be what someone else wanted.

This is sad.  It is a process and it is clear that I am not close to having this spiraling process becoming just another memory.  I am not yet adjacent, in the neighborhood of that Universe.  I trek in this reality, doing my best and hoping to not make any of those mistakes again, ever again.

My memories seems essential to finding balance in my new life.  That they eventually will stop being only a source of shame and fear and move further into that part of my life where I can use them to learn about the things that I no longer want as part of me or my life.  You know, using them as illustrations, examples and lessons for what I do not want, allowing better, more appropriate beliefs and practices to take their places.

I have no idea who first postulated the thoughts of how essential it is to know where one has been in order to see where one is going, or at least wants to go.

I cannot undo my past.  When pressed on occasion to declare if I ever wanted or considered the differences in my life that would benefit from being able to go back and change things, do things differently, or simply not do some things at all, I did not have to think about it; I know that I would not.  Which is probably a healthy way to feel, as it is impossible to return to any time in one's history and change anything.  All I have is today, not even tomorrow, to craft the life I want.