Love and Hot Chocolate

      

      You and I, perhaps, have grown out of fairy stories long ago. And I will assert that nearly every one of us grows out of it too soon. It was not our fault — it was our misfortune that elder people, who should have known better, stole the fairies from us. They knew but one world, these elders, and they had forgotten the joy of living in two.

      Many, I know, hold it harmful to keep children too long living in the realm of faëry. They say it helps to make a woolgathering habit of mind, and so in time unfits the adult for the practical work of life. All of which I firmly believe to be wrong. Never did men and women have more need of a refuge in the exercise of poetic imagination than in this bustling age; and the happiest people I know are those who keep a keen delight in poetry and the things that are only to be seen by an inner eye.

      There is a connection between the fairyland of youth and the poetry of mature years. Let a child but keep hold long enough of the gossamer thread that runs back into the realm of faëry, and in time it may join on to the world of higher poetic fancy.

~John Crawley, "The Realm of Faery," Reveries of a Father

'Winterthur' Viburnum

Just as he has filled his stomach to capacity with dinner delivered on demand, my purring little friend has wedged himself between the chair arm and my right hip, which is magical as no space exists between the chair arm and my hip, yet here he lays with his legs comfortably laying across my leg and his head resting on my belly bump, knowing he can just about get away with anything on earth he wishes.  

Licking his right paw and rubbing it over his right ear, he ignores my aching left arm arched over his body trying to type out this post.  He’s stopped purring,  I’ll fix that.

A gentle rubbing under his chin, his purring reeves up again, then… oh no, he gets up, walks across my legs and curls around, plopping down into my right arm area, grazing my nose as he goes into his comfort zone, and as I wipe a tissue across my nose and fur with it, arch my right arm over his body to continue typing, a massive ache escalates quite fast from zero to nine in less than 60 seconds causing me to wish I had never thought about typing a story at all today.

I need my ice water. What! All I can produce from a brain swimming in words is ice water.  Where is my ice water before I have a meltdown!

Well, Vic popped his head into the room, and my cat Austin made a beeline to safety from a man whom he loves dearly if food is available, otherwise he shrinks from sight and scoots into another room.  I tell Vic the secrets for bonding with him, but he has no patience to stay the course.

Anyhoo… my subject flew the coop, leaving me no inspiration to continue.  I’d write about Charlotte, but she’s a secret cat appearing at mealtimes before being absorbed back into the house until bedtime.  I’m blessed with two cats who know their names, but don’t always come on demand.  They only appear if they feel like it… so annoying.

Austin said you were in your ‘me’room typing a story.  I was going to roll around in the plethora of lint clouds in the kitchen and dining room, lick it off my fur and puke it onto the living room rug, but daddy vacuumed, and I am left with nothing.

And I am being told this because…

…because, as Santa Claus, we have a request for toys to replace the ones you gathered up and dumped. 

And what toys do you miss?

What toys did you dump?

I asked first, but it’s clear you had no favorites or at least one would pop up into your memory.

Oh pleaseee… we don’t want those dorky toys as replacement.  We want better toys.

Well pardon me, Miss Lottiedah, do you have a list of the better toys?  Is this request from Austin also?

It would be from Austin if he didn’t melt into your lap and forget about life every time you go into your writing room.

Well, I have a lap cat and a bedtime cat.  Guess which one spends more time with me.

Well, if you took an afternoon nap, I would be spending more time with you, Mommy.  Anyway, what about the request.

Request?  What request was that?

New toys, Santa Mommy, new toys!

Isn’t it a tad too early for Christmas present requests, Charlotte dear.

Oh, Mommy, Mommy… There is no starting point for requests in life.  It just always is.  You could learn a lot from me.

Well, Ms. Einstein, I think I’ve learned enough to last two lifetimes.  I’ll pass your list along to Santa.

Oh please, Mommy dearest, daddy ratted you out years ago.

Just give me the list and I’ll make sure you get the presents.

Here, Santa Mommy.

Why is it folded so many times? 

To give you time to not freak out, coolest Mommy ever.

What the… tell you what, dear Charlotte, cross the first item off the list, then come back with a list written with words one half inch high on one side of this index card I’m giving you, since Santa is old, partly blind, and running low on funds this year’s end.

Why must I cross the first item off the list, Mommy meanie.

Oh, please Charlotte, I wasn’t born yesterday.  Why do you want a singing canary in a birdcage?  Why not forget the birdcage and just ask for the canary?

Well, if you insist.

I can see a big lump of coal coming your way this Christmas.

I can see we just keep getting dumb presents for Christmas, because there is no Santa.  There’s just you.  Forget the list.

                         *************************************************

Mommy was sad that night as she laid alone in bed, for Charlotte never appeared.  Oh, how Mommy wished there really was a magical man who could whip up a present on demand, and deep in her heart she always pretended such a man really did exist, for what is life without a bit of magic.

Mommy sighed and let herself drift off into serenity as she listened to soft music and felt the cold of night settle around her.  She rested peacefully, knowing her presents this year would have to be spot on with a cat’s prospective of the concept of life and Santa.  She created the monster, and it seemed she would be living with it for some time to come. 

Isn’t life grand.   She thought that sarcastically, but caught herself saying it again, only this time with conviction.  Sometime during the night Charlotte silently found her place next to Mommy on the bed.  

All became well in this little corner of the world as Mommy dreamed of a mob of canary wings flapping all around her head, as Charlotte leaped through the air with the greatest of ease, claws extended and mouth open, shouting Hallelujah, there really is a Santa Claus!

Austin

'Sparkleberry' Winterberry

I have no idea what this plant is.

Beautiful Poison Ivy in her fall color.

Wolf Spider

Calico Aster with some type of small bees.

Eastern Calligrapher Flower fly

Lonicera sempervirens, Coral Honeysuckle

Northern Mockingbird in the Blackhaw Viburnum

American Beauty Berry

Fall Blooming Crocus

Spicebush leaves

'Winterthur' Viburnum Leaves

Last of the Aster Paten flowers

Left is Wild Petunia seed heads 

waiting to burst open to scatter the seed.

Right are three Aster Paten seeds 

waiting to detatch from the seed head

and fly away on the wind.

Northern Red Oak Acorn is bitter and not loved by squirrels.

A multicolored Asian lady beetle or Harmonia axyridis. 

Found on neighbor's purple fountain grass.

Rome Beauty Apple

White flesh, but sometimes different degrees of red show up.

This one is quite colorful.

Love and 

a cup of hot chocolate.

Doesn't get much better than that.

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Saturday's Critters

If Looks Could Kill ~

There is always that distance you are from me, where you seem more like a spirit
in the wind than a real-life creature of feathers maneuvering like an acrobatic ninja from one clematis bell shaped flower on to the next for an early breakfast this morning with me.  

I am honored.  I do wish you would stay awhile, but we all know you have little time to say hello and less time to say goodbye before off you go…

and where (does one ask?)

Well,

Only the heavens know, and they aren’t telling.

Why is it that this creature can jump start a cold heart into a roaring fire when it is sited?  What unseen tether binds this little soul to mine in a way that only friends may know?

What keeps me anticipating the reappearance of one hovering eye to eye even though year after year it never happens again? 

Perhaps it is a gentle reminder that we might never take even the smallest things for granted.

My garden is a weaving of warp threads, that which was already here, and waft threads, that which I added to create a tapestry uniquely me.  It changed the boredom of my life into happiness, even though it has been wrought with doubts, hopes, triumps, and failures, joy and sadness throughout its existence.  It still gives me pleasure.

While I tend to write using my feelings as far as nature is concerned, I do know it is not true nature.  It is my feelings.  Trying to survive on a planet out to kill you if you let down your guard is true nature.  Sometimes I write about it, but honestly, few ever really want to hear it.  La La Land seems to be preferred.

The ending of mommy's story 

and 

the beginning of my story -

Ms.Charlotte FeatherBender's 

Adventure in La La Land

Not a word, or it's curtains for you, fuzzie cheeks!

Mommy's at an impasse, in that her head can't agree as to what her fingers might type.  In contrast, mommy's been teaching daddy the concept of overwatering and he's becoming exceptionally good at it.

After I pointed out to mommy her only other option for a little time off was to pick daddy to finish her blog post, I got the job.  She did refuse to forego the proofreading, ergo forcing me into bad kitty mode.  The story shall be written.  I'll reprimand myself afterwards.

Mommy asked daddy about the asters and coneflowers that no longer seem to exist in the front garden bed under the windows she looks out of everyday.  Daddy's been weeding there, so he's not talking.

  

He put his foot into his mouth, shoe and all, the other day when mommy tried to stuff the words it's all about you back down his throat.  I didn't think that was humanly possible, but mommy proved me wrong.  You go, girl!

You might be thinking mommy and daddy have been married forever, and you wouldn't be wrong, but the banter keeps things lively for this feline during a boring afternoon, while Austin hids under a bed where he can't sit on my head.  A nice win for me.

Found this meter gadget in daddy's tool cabinet with a glass window on the front, collected probably before he met mommy, encrusted with rust... you know, all that stuff daddy meaninglessly stockpiles just in case it's ever needed.  I wonder if it works?

(shake, shake, shake)

What the...?

(shake, shake, shake)

Good Grief!

I'm beginning to talk like mommy.

(shake, shake, shake!)

I knew it!

Too much rust.

(shake, shake, shake, shake, shake)

Maybe a few more...

(shake, shake, shake)

YIKES!!!

Darn it, dropped it on the floor.

It's history now.

I dropped it into my water bowl to finish it off.

I wonder what else is in daddy's tool cabinet?

~ The Tool Cabinet ~

It stands impressively tall, too heavy for its wheels to be of much use.  It was an agreement between the two – not a necessity for him, but to her it was a way to organize a bit of the chaos that seemed to collect around him.

She wanted to purchase the largest of the brand, but the next one down was the more practical of the two.  She hated always being practical.  It was not her life as she had invisioned.

She brought seven tools into the marriage, as she purchased only when one was needed.  Lovingly used, they looked immaculate compared to his.  He brought in the old metal handled toolboxes, maybe nine in number, packed with rusty dulled edge tools that looked abused and worn out.

She wondered why he had tools.  He was not a handyman.

He filled ten drawers of their toolbox with his tools leaving her a small half size drawer for her tools, and a regular four-inch-deep drawer for purchases down the road to take care of the house and garden.

The largest of the drawers, the bottom one, carried so much weight in tools that the flat metal bulged under pressure and formed a gigantic bowl that scraped across the bottom of the cabinet when it was opened or closed.

Three handheld toolboxes full of tools remained cluttering up the garage.  She told him to get rid of them, so he stuffed even more into the bulging, overburdened tool cabinet before giving up the rest. 

She ignored it all.  He was so unchangeable.

He used her tools without asking, and put them back, not in her drawer, but his.  Sometimes she would hunt through his drawers to reclaim her tools, but the day came when she moved her tools into two drawers in the kitchen and never looked back.

I’m not sure the moral, if any, this poignant tale encompasses.   Perhaps this little saying says it all –

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass; it is about learning to dance in the rain.”

People!  We felines embrace life head on.  So does mommy.

I guess the heat put mommy in pooped out mode, as her first photo looks simply weedy.   Poor mommy.  I'll put my magical toes to work and see what I can do with it.

Crap!  Uh... right, people are reading this.  Drats!  Mommy left notes.  This beauty is Fatoua villosa, translates to densely hairy and is part of the Mulberry Tree family in Asia.  Well...la te da.  A weed is a weed.

Lovely Spicebush berries

An omnivore, in the front garden, hiding from carnivores.

Cottontail Rabbit

yummy yum!

Pesty Austin at his lovable best.

 Broadleaf Plantain (Plantago major)

Ekking out a living in the cracks.

Bumblebee feeding on the Joe Pye Weed.

Stunning against the orange edged violet leaf.

Maybe a Zabulon Skipper Butterfly

Chelone lyonii, Turtlehead 

Maybe a leaf from a Tulip Tree (Liriodendron tulipifera)

Lonicera sempervirens, Coral Honeysuckle

Mommy has it cut down every year,

so it doesn't grow up into the blackhaw viburnum

and drag the limbs down to the ground.

Tiny Spicebush Caterpillars

hiding for the day.

These caterpillars are very small, 

but they already have the two dots on their thorax

used to mimic a snake when larger.

Looks like appetizers rolled in a leaf

Mommy says I have that 

tired, 

disgusted, 

would rather be somewhere else look 

that could kill in a heartbeat.

Dang it.

She knows me so well.

I have no ending for this post,

as I live in the suburbs 

where dogs are loved 

and cats are hated.

I am never allowed outdoors.

  

I live in prison for my own protection.  

I'm returning to one of the cell blocks 

down the hallway to take a snooze.

Charlotte

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