I report with great sadness that Miss Jenna, beloved dog of my friend and former co-worker The Fisherman, crossed the rainbow bridge last Friday.
I got to know Jenna because her she and her dad were inseparable. She would sleep in the truck all day while The Fisherman picked up parts and repaired the boats. Jenna' s birthday and mine were only days apart, so as fellow Cancerians we understood each other. Or at least, I felt like Jenna understood me when I'd go to the parking lot outside the office to pet her and tell her my troubles. A little dog love always made me feel better.
Jenna was the kind of dog who never met a stranger. She was friends with all of mankind, and most of dogkind, too. People would stop The Fisherman on the street to say "You've got a great dog there" -- which he knew, but he always thanked them.
Miss Jenna was a very popular old gal. She leaves behind many friends and admirers, and of course, her devoted father. Godspeed, Jennadog.
It's been a rough couple of weeks here at Old Maid HQ, with the loss of two members of my family of choice. One I discussed here; the other was the sudden death of someone whose path and mine crossed, but not often enough. I would have liked to have known him a lot better than I did. His sister is a friend of mine, and although I was on the periphery of the huge group that mourned his passing, it's been exhausting.
Two of the things my friend gave me from her brothers house are these Spanish dancers. I loved them as soon as I saw them, but I waited until others had taken things they wanted before I asked for them. They remind me of some lamps my grandma had in her living room the whole time I was growing up, but that were thrown out when the room was redecorated. (New brass lamps from J.C. Penney with the plastic still on the shades were involved. You don't want to know.)
Oddly enough, I was the only person among our group of friends who appreciated the delightful tackiness of these two girls. They now live on a deep shelf above my kitchen sink, and every time I look up at them they make me smile. I like to think that wherever they are, J and Gram are smiling too.
It's a sad day here at Old Maid HQ. Ringo Stu Kitty, beloved cat of Monica of 5 Cats Shy, brother of the dearly departed Seamus Patrick O'Kitty and excellent roadtrip buddy crossed the Rainbow Bridge last night.
Ringo Stu was a six-pound cat with a lion-sized personality. He always greeted guests at the door like the gentleman he was. Ringo was an excellent conversationalist who enjoyed talking on the phone with his grandma Kathleen and expressing himself on many topics. He was also a talented singer who enjoyed xylophone music and would sing along with Buddy Holly's "Every Day" and the Beastie Boys' "Girls." His cow impersonations were legendary.
Ringo was a very cuddly cat who would by means of stealth get onto his mother's lap at any opportunity. He loved his mother very much, and he also had love to share with others. When we were traveling across the country, I woke up many times with Ringo curled up on my belly. Ringo was a lot of love in a very small package.
Ringo is survived by his mother Monica, his grandma Kathleen, his aunt Michelle, his aunt Maria, and his cousins Huckleberry and Daphne Clementine Katz. Godspeed, "Ringo Stulio down at the schoolyard."
On Friday, I read online about the bombings and shootings in Norway. At the time, my friend Monica said to me via instant message "Who would bomb Norway? Norwegians don't bother anyone. They are peaceable, fish eating, skiing, sauna takers." Later we learned who would bomb Norway: a pissed off right-wing Norwegian.
Yesterday I went to a gathering for the Friends of Anne Hutchinson which is held every year to celebrate Anne Hutchinson's life and legacy. She was the leader of a group of people who founded Portsmouth, Rhode Island, which was the first town in the New World to allow religious freedom and whose citizens were a "body politic." After being thrown out of the Massachusetts Bay Colony for minor divergences in religious belief, they wrote a compact guaranteeing the separation of church and state.
When I got home, I learned of the existence of a radical right-wing group here in the USA who is advertising -- in militant and quasi-military terms -- a plan to "lay seige" on Washington D.C. to change it from the "District of Columbia" to the "District of Christ." They also plan to hold demonstrations and prayer vigils in Washington D.C., Philadelphia, and in each state as they carry out plans for a "reformation intercession." The movement is growing, and according to what I've seen, it appears they are pushing for a theocratic form of government. Because, as we've seen throughout history and even into the present day, theocracies work out great for everybody.
I've met people like this, and while many of them are relatively harmless, they are also not very bright and easily led. As George Carlin famously said, never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups. Frankly, these people scare the bejeezus out of me.
And then last night while I was watching TV, I thought I heard gunshots. What I probably heard was a particularly loud type of leftover 4th of July fireworks, but for a moment, I seriously entertained the idea that guns were being fired. In Newport, Rhode Island. I feel like I'm living in a world gone mad.
I won't be made useless,
I won't be idle with despair
There isn't much one maiden aunt can do in times like these. But this afternoon, I can draw a cartoon for my food blog. That seems to make my readers smile. I can sketch out some ideas I have for a birthday gift for my great-niece. I can work on the invitations for my BFF's 90th birthday party in August. I can do whatever small things that are in my power to shine a light. And I will.
It's a sad day here at Old Maid HQ. Seamus Patrick O'Kitty, beloved cat of Monica of 5 Cats Shy and friend to spinsters coast to coast crossed the rainbow bridge last night.
Seamus was the strong, silent type. He didn't say much, so when he did talk, you knew he had something important to communicate. Things like "My brother just pooped in the cat carrier," for example -- vital information on a cross-country roadtrip.
Seamus and I really had a chance to get to know each other on the road trip we took together in January. Before that, he'd always viewed me as a stranger and best avoided. But he warmed up to me on that trip. I would wake up in the middle of the night, sick with the flu and worrying about my own kitty boarded at the vet for the first time ever, and he'd be on the bed with me -- still silent, not asking to be petted, just there. It was very comforting.
I also like to remember the Wigwam Motel in Holbrook, Arizona, where Seamus and I snuggled on my bed in the evening while I read. I petted him while he purred and purred. It was a happy time.
Seamus is survived by his mother Monica, his brother Ringo Stu Kitty, his grandma Kathleen, his aunt Michelle, his aunt Maria, and his cousins Huckleberry and Daphne Clementine Katz. Godspeed, Little Boy.
