Rabbit Radar

I heard a different than usual kind of "meow" from the living room this morning. It wasn't an "I'm bugging my Brother Cat" kind of meow. It wasn't the chirpy meow that accompanies bird watching. It was a "purry" kind of meow. Something had captured Jet's interest and his meow piqued my curiousity. 

It turns out it was Jet's "I see a rabbit" meow. Look who was resting under the tree in our very own front yard!!

I grabbed my coffee and simply savored the moments for as long as they lasted. The rabbit (who may or not be "Jerry", the rabbit who I made eye contact with a few nights ago) was still for many minutes. Then I saw him chewing. I think he found the rabbit food I sprinkled under the tree several weeks ago in an attempt to lure rabbits into our yard.

I had all but given up on my rabbit food attraction and was (still am, actually) considering growing a "rabbit garden". Lettuce, specifically. I am just pondering where I could make this happen. Does lettuce grow under a fir tree? That is a thought for another day ...

After "Jerry", the rabbit finished nibbling on what he found under our tree, he hopped across the street and enjoyed whatever our neighbor's yard was serving up for dessert. If you look real hard, you can spot him.

I've zoomed in on him here:

Jerry spent a fair little bit of time enjoying the nourishment he found in our neighorbor's yard (what do they have that we don't have, I wondered) before he hopped off into his day.

This rabbit gazing moment was brought to you compliments of "Jet" - the cat who has developed a special meow to indicate the presence of rabbits in the area. I hope he hones his Rabbit Radar and alerts me on an ongoing basis.

Maintenance vs Renovations

We are entering the third week of exterior house maintenance. May I just say "maintenance" is not half the fun of "renovations" but it is just as costly.

Important issues are being addressed, such as moving the bathroom fan vent to a different location to prevent the ice dam issues in its previous location. We now have "architectural" grade shingles which should last longer. Good to know. Good to have. But not terribly exciting.

Shingling in progress; front view

Shingling half done; back view (bathroom fan has been moved)

Start date: May 19th; completion date: May 21st; paid in full. End of story.

Second project - redo the foundation parging. 

Day one - not very satisfied with the work/look of the job

Day two - better 

Apparently the look I was expecting could only be accomplished with acrylic material which is much more expensive. It would have been nice to know this ahead of time. But ... this will do.

Start date: June 4th; completion date: June 5th; awaiting my bill

Phase Three: soffit and fascia. Ordered: June 6th; anticipated start date: June 8th; expected completion date: on or before June 16th (this is a weekend project, compliments of my Second Son)

Phase Four: eavestroughs and downspouts. Anticipated date of work: June 21st

Phase Five: house and garage painting. Scheduled to begin: July 8th (weather permitting)

If all goes according to plan, the exterior of our house should be tended to by the middle of July. Much of this work is cosmetic, there are some ventilation and ice dam issues being addressed and there is an element of adding some non-maintenance items to the agenda in the hope that some of this work will never have to be done again.

The exterior maintenance work feels akin to getting dental work done. It is necessary but it isn't too terribly fun. As much as I hope to simply sit back and gaze at the complete project as we head into summer, I fear that tending to peeling paint and curled up shingles may accentuate the brown grass and untreated deck and fence. 

Like dental work, I know this will feel good once it is complete. But the process feels tedious, expensive and I'm simply staring at the clock waiting for it to be done. 

No lesson or moral to today's story. I'm just biding my time, waiting for the end and watching the dollars disappear faster than I can earn them. 

Life's like that sometimes. You must take care of the bricks and mortar, maintain a good solid foundation and know you have peace of mind and a safe place to fall.

We Had to Get Away

I have spent the past week immersed in Jeannette Walls' books (The Glass Castle and Half Broke Horses). I soaked up every word and watched numerous interviews with her on YouTube, yet I couldn't succinctly describe what it felt like to be wrapped up in her books until I came upon this quote:

“Mom, you have to leave Dad,” I said. 

She stopped doing her toe touches. “I can’t believe you would say that,” she said. “I can’t believe that you, of all people, would turn on your father.” 

I was Dad’s last defender, she continued, the only one who pretended to believe all his excuses and tales, and to have faith in his plans for the future. “He loves you so much,” Mom said. “How can you do this to him?” 

“I don’t blame Dad,” I said. And I didn’t. But Dad seemed hell-bent on destroying himself, and I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him. “We’ve got to get away.” 
― Jeannette Walls, The Glass Castle

I thoroughly enjoyed Jeannette's writing style and couldn't put my finger on the "why" of it until one interviewer marvelled at the fact that she retold her story without anger or resentment towards her father who was an alcoholic which led to a nomadic and unstable upbringing.

I walked away from a partner who encapsulated some of the personality traits of Rex Walls (Jeannette's father). As I drove my young family away from the cycle of the life that kept drawing me back time and time again, there was a knowing deep inside of me that we had to get away. Plain and simple. I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him.

In one of her interviews, Jeannette Walls says everyone should write their own memoir. Not everyone should publish their memoir but everyone should write the story of their life. I began to wonder what I may come up with, if I was to unearth my memories.

My childhood was idyllic and in no way prepared me for my marriage. I question why I made some of the choices I did at the time but I do remember well the low self image I had of myself. That is quite likely at the crux of things.

I fell for a boy (I was 16; he was 18 when we met and we married one year later) who loved me out loud. I led a very safe life. He lived on the edge. I followed rules to the letter. He defied them. I grew up in a home where affection was not displayed openly. He held my hand. He hugged me. I felt unloveable. He loved me.

And the rest is history.

Our marriage was a roller coaster ride of the best of times and the worst of times. Our fights were loud and destructive. We brought out the best and the worst in each other. I can't think of a time in my life where I look back and criticize my actions as harshly as I do during our marriage. Yet ... the good times made up for everything.

Our marriage was so far from my normal that I didn't even want to be around my family. I couldn't be a part of something that felt so foreign to me. Yet when we separated for the last time I ran straight into the heart of everything that has grounded me. I moved back "home", nestled in among family I didn't know yet. It was the beginning of a time of good decision making for me.

I had to leave him. It was the only right answer. For me. For my children. For our future.

I look back on my previous life and while I remember our reality quite well, I choose to focus on the heart of a man who wanted to be so much more.

I believe I saw the best he had to give. His heart started out in the right place but too often, his intentions got lost somewhere in between his heart and his actions. But there were times when his actions reflected his intentions. It was the best of times ...

“I don’t blame him. But he seemed hell-bent on destroying himself, and I was afraid he was going to pull us all down with him. We had to get away.” 

The Best Part of Waking Up ...

There is a weariness within me that sleep doesn't begin to touch a lot of days. But waking up to this view is the best part of my morning:

I Met a Rabbit

When I went to check the mailbox when I got home last night, there was something that caught my eye. I simply extended my view from the mailbox to our neighbor's yard and there it was. A young rabbit.

The door was already open. I simply stepped outside in my bare feet and silently padded my way along to get a better view.

The rabbit hopped through our yard then stopped at the cat walk beside our driveway. The rabbit was on full alert. Ears perked up and I'm sure in its peripheral vision, it was watching me as closely as I was watching it. We both stopped in our tracks, tested our trust-o-meters and simply breathed.

The rabbit nibbled on a few weeds. Sat up. Watched. Listened. Then washed one side of its face. Sat up. Turned to face me and we made face to face contact. It washed the other side of its face. We were both well aware of the other's presence. It trusted me enough to simply be still and let me soak up the moments.

Minutes passed. Nothing startled the rabbit so it stayed put. I watched him. He was fully aware of me. No one broke the barrier of trust that stood between us. No one's personal space was invaded. No sudden moves or startling sounds. It was a moment. Just the rabbit and me.

I thought of the rabbits in Mom's neighborhood and how close Mom could be to them as she moved slowly and quietly through her yard. I suspect they watched her as much as she watched them.

I introduced myself to our neighborhood rabbit last night. I watched him. He watched me. Step one in forging a small sense of trust.

Another moment brought to you courtesy of Mother Nature.

I met a rabbit and I shall dub him "Jerry". Show me the bunny! And the bunny appeared.

What Color is Your Hair?

Simple question, right? What color is your hair?

Ask a 5 year old, the answer is "Brown".

Ask a 58 year old, the answer is "Medium ash blond".

Same color. The only difference? One comes out of a box.

Moments to Behold

It's Monday morning and I am simply grateful to be sitting still in the quiet of the morning. It's been a rather people-oriented weekend and I have very few words left over.

It was a very good weekend. It was full of everything good. Yet as I wake up into this brand new work week, these are the moments that sift to the top:

Spotting a black cat (no, it wasn't either of our cats) in a flower bed, ignoring the magpies that were harrassing him. I took one look at this cat's familiar expression and I thought, "I love black cat's personalities!" I haven't met a black cat I haven't liked. The demeanor of this cool black cat, as he brushed off the attention he was getting from the magpies? Perfection.

We came upon this perfect little scene as we walked around a man-made water lake at a park. It melted my heart and I could have simply sat still and gazed at these little critters for hours.

I dubbed the lead goose as Mother Goose and the one bringing up the rear as Father. I have no idea if that is the truth or not. It is simply the story I made up in my head as I breathed in the moment.

The protective nature of the two adults doesn't change as they enter the water. Isn't nature amazing?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the path are the geese that decided against going out for a mid-afternoon swim. Four adults stayed on shore, with one of them clearly appointed as "Lookout"

One more ... isn't this adorable?

I drove home from my day trip just as the sun was beginning to set. I was watchful for any wildlife who may be crossing the highway and just as I was making my turn, I saw a young moose thinking about whether or not to dart across. I slowed down to give both of us ample time to react and he decided to turn around and head back into the field. Smart moose.

I love watching nature unfold before my eyes. Acting and reacting to life instinctively. Pure and simple.

Humans are so complicated...but that is a story for another day.