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Storm. Relaxing in the last moments of Summer 2022. |
Captured and captivating. Not the same thing but seriously
kissing cousins. I have been chasing this one moment my whole life. All 52
trips around the sun,,, and finally I am happy to exclaim; I am here. This one
moment. The one to outshine and oust all those before it. And, here's the real
kicker, I am alone. (Who saw that one coming?).. Well, not totally alone, I have a
cat, Wren, grooming and purring beside me, and two dogs curled at me feet. I am
never truly alone. Another decision of complete choice. I couldn’t imagine
being completely alone, ever. (Who would want to be that? Isn’t it just dark and
claustrophobic there)?
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Waiting for me to finish laundry, and keeping an eye out for squirrels. |
I spent my whole life to be this one solitary thing. This singular
being. The only person I ever imagined myself wanting to be. A veterinarian. I
suppose some women want to be mothers, wives? (Maybe? Right? Isn’t that who we
are supposed to want to become)? Well, me, nope, just a veterinarian. I put so
much importance on that one thing, that one place of being, that it
blocked out all of the light and choked out the life of everything else. Lucky for
me that it also afforded me pets. I could have as many as I wanted. The quintessential
polygamist of pets. No rules here. I can't be accused of neglecting them
anything. I could be my own Dr. Doolittle-zoo-style. And who is going to challenge
me? Yep, not one single soul. I set it up this way. If I knew more about pets
than anyone else I could have free reign to have them all if I so wished it. How
perfect is that? For me, the spinster of all else, it was everything. It's all I
wanted to be, and here I am, there.
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The back porch workspace |
Sitting in this one perfect moment.
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Wren keeps me company, (or I keep her warm, I never know which applies), as I write. |
What does it look like? An Aperol spritzer. My drink for summer
2022. I really do this. I pick one drink I want to try and then if it works I ride
that spritzer all summer long. A warm kitty purring her hearts desire out next
to me on our porch couch. Her name is Wren. (All of my cats are named after birds; Magpie, Oriole. The most sensible way to assist the too numerous cats is to have a theme from the get-go. The dogs also have a theme; Fripp and Havana Storm. There was Charleston, Savannah before them). She always has to be near me. She is the most affectionate, reliable, and heart
warming girl. Always has a paw on me. A reassuring
hand to let me know she is there. Beside me and supporting me. In bed she
sleeps on the pillow above mine. I pet her all night until we both fall asleep.
I will wake up and she will be laying on my hand. The heating pad to her heart
and the adoration to my slumber. She is my second feline who stole my heart. There
was D.C. before her. My guardian and salvation embodied in one little 7 pound
ball of demands and fur. The pups lay at my feet. Always with me inside the
house or out. They guard me as much as follow. They never want to be left out
of the activities and stay close by so as to not miss an opportunity for an
adventure. This house. So grand in her country manors. So noble in her stone façade
that has stood here nestled in the woods for over two centuries. The birds all
squawk and bellow around us. They are the subtle reminders that the seasons
change and the populations shift. Winter is approaching and the song birds have
started their own snow bird migration to warmer skies and distant shores. The jays
and chickadees stay. I reward their loyalty with seeds and thick evergreen
trees. I have this one moment caught between summer departing and fall
clamoring in with its vibrant colors and sweater adorning chills.
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There is warm cider, hot tea and blankets to remind me that I
am still youthful enough to face her cold days. And the warmth of the memories
tucked in every corner of my home to keep me company as the long days emerge.
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The den and the dahlias |
I never thought I would get here. The place where the
moments hang suspended in the hopes I had for the days that I would be old
enough to slow down and admire them. And yet here I am, resting on the laurels
of a life that is upon its tipping point between already been there and done
it, and don’t want to be pestered by that burden anymore, and the leisurely admiration
of the beauty that surrounds me without me wishing it to be anywhere and
anything else.
I'm going to pick dahlias now. The third grand bouquet of the
weekend. Just to place them beside my pillow for my beloved Wren. The cat I refer
to as royalty in the home that a castle would be envious of. In the midst of the towering dahlias of all shapes sizes and colors twists the cherry-red tomatoes. volunteers from last year that somehow made a stronghold in the garden we have to re-till every year as we replace the giant tubers of dahlia zygotes we dug up in late fall the year before. These tiny bursts of sweet eluded the genocide of all of the other plants we forced out to let the dahlias thrive. and yet they are so deliciously insidious I cannot feel anything but gratitude for their perseverance and abundance. i picked them twisted around the steel cages the dahlias require for support, spine serpentined, arms outreaching, tiny berries that fall with any degree of disruption. I placed them in handfuls into the small antique basket my mom had purchased at an antique show many years ago. I remember it held antique chicks nestled on their tissue paper shredded grass. She, like me, never wasted a thing. She could see me now, all those many years after, using this basket in my imperfectly glorious garden, and she would tell me the same thing she always did, "this is the most perfect day."
My one perfect moment inside my gloriously magnificent imperfectly
mine, my own life.
For more photos of this old stone house, or the animals I spend my at home and at work days with please follow me at
Stone House Beautiful link here
or
Jarrettsville Vet Facebook page here