to find beauty

listening to the quiet

I am house/dog-sitting this week for a family at my church.

I walk into the house, the "Terriorists" Terriers sniffing me suspiciously, one baring his teeth (the owner says this is his smile), the other looking at me with a cocked face, that seems to be asking "Who are you? Are you going to take us for a walk?" 

I bend down, and pet their gray little bodies, and comfort them. "Hey puppies, remember me? I am here to take care of you!"

[It's totally normal to talk to animals, by the way.]

I set my purse down, and look around... and take a deep breath. The house welcomes me with her beautiful quietness and even with the still continuing canine inspections happening at my feet... I feel the peace.

I was supposed to be at lifegroup in forty minutes. I had just enough time to drop my stuff off, let the puppies pee (outside) and take off. But the quietness has stopped me.

When's the last time you've been alone? Without an agenda. Without homework or someone to talk to about something. When's the last time you wrote... not for school, but to process all the new things in your life?

[It's also not weird to talk to yourself.]

I think It's been a long time.

I am not going to lifegroup tonight, am I, God?

Nope.

I am reminded of two separate conversations that occurred earlier that day. One where  the executive pastor shared at a Directors Meeting the need for people with "Melancholy" personalities to take time to rest. He said Melancholies love being with people - a lot- but they need to be careful  to take a break from people and have alone time too. Time to rest. To contemplate life. To daydream. To breathe.

And then later, I was chatting with the Small Groups Pastor about an upcoming marriage conference. We were watching the "Laugh Your Way to Better Marriage" promotional video... and the speaker talked about men having little boxes in their heads and women having lots of wires all messy and connected. And how men have a favorite box in their head called the Nothing Box, where they really, really like to "go to" often... and think/do nothing at all... much to the women's annoyance.

I didn't hear in the video what the female comparison was to the "Nothing Box"... but I think it's time for us to think, pray, listen to God... listen to the quiet whispers we can't hear when we are stuck in a whirlwind of busyness. It's time to rest and connect with God.

So, that's what I will do tonight, listen to the rain outside and think about all that is going on in my life... thanking God for it all...   that is until 8pm when One Tree Hill comes on.

[Just kidding.]

fake mansion living + finished the divorce party

I am living in mansion. (really. but its not my mansion, of course.)

And I am all alone in this big, beautiful house except for a cat and two hamsters. I love it. Maybe I am introverted. Maybe the reason I have felt like a crazy woman these last couple weeks months is because I haven't had time to breathe. Alone. Maybe. (I think there is more to it. But nothing that an amazing summer can't cure.)

I am also purposely not turning the television on. So, its quiet and I can think and focus and am not tied down to the couch for half hour or one hour increments. I did miss Army Wives summer premiere. (I will survive.)

For about another week, I get to recline on their deck, cook in their incredible kitchen (okay, so the most I have done is pour a bowl of cereal so far) and read one of my many books cuddled in one of the many comfy chairs in the house. 

I finished The Divorce Party last night. Was up until 4am reading it. And I have to say, it was the page turner Kim Iverson from the Buzz 105.1 mentioned last week on her radio show. (Yes, I went out and bought after she raved* about it!) It was really sad- of course, divorce is sad. I am not sure what I think about the idea of having a "Divorce Party." I don't know if it offers closure or if just puts a pretty bow on something sad and lost. I, of course, have never been married, and divorce has only been felt from the pains of friends and family members. So, what do I know? It was just sad. 

Amazon has this review listed (and I feel too lazy to write something similar myself):

Laura Dave is widely recognized as an up-and-coming talent in women’s fiction. Now, with her characteristic wit and warmth, she captures a much-discussed cultural phenomenon that has never been profiled in fiction before—divorce celebrations. Set in Hamptons high society, The Divorce Party features two women—one newly engaged and one at the end of her marriage—trying to answer the same question: when should you fight to save a relationship, and when should you let go?

An insightful and funny multi-generational story, this deeply moving novel is sure to touch anyone whose heart has weathered an unexpected storm.

On a happier note: if "Huntington Hall" actually existed (where the most of the book took place), I'd really like to visit the old Victorian home in Mantauk overlooking the Atlantic Ocean... I would swing on the big swing and look out over the cliff and dream about my future too. It seems like a lovely thing to do.

*raved might be the wrong word. She was greatly upset over the book and how some of the storylines ended. I don't blame her.

Up next: sleep.

hunting for home-sweet-home

I am a hunter. Minus the head-to-toe camo and the newest animal tracking gadgetry, of course. Because I am not on the prowl for a new wall trophy or jerky ingredients (yum).

And no, my prey is not a boyfriend/husband either. Though it may be next on the hit list.

No, I am hunting for a new place to call my own. It's on my task list to do when I am 28. I have about three months left. I've looked at one place in real life... checked out hundreds online. I have determined some "must haves" and some "would like to haves" -- my biggest concern being how my cat, Elwood, would fare. I have determined two okay locations: Clackamas or certain parts of Gresham (though I am picky: Rockwood area is totally out.)

I've looked at apartment layouts, my budget, I've inventoried items I already have and will need... I've dreamed and schemed. I've considered that the packing process will be enormously annoying and a lot of work. I am praying for my new neighbors, and the new friendships I will be making.

And I hunt. And as I hunt, I am reminded by a friend that this is "a big deal." The step out of my parent's home into the big, bad world. Yes, I am 28 and yes, I have lived out of my parents home during college. But this is big.

I talk to my parents about it, fully expecting dad to throw a party. But they both appeared sad at the idea of me not being around. Which feels good. Dad makes a crack about how I will need to move back soon to take care of them anyways... so why leave. (He's not that old! And hello, give me some time to have my own family before I become a live-in caretaker!)

Mom is sad. She says, "but we will never see you again." Mom, I am not dying. I will be living less than 20 minutes away. I will be over all the time, especially if I don't have onsite laundry. I explain that I need to stretch my legs, be an adult, see if I can do it. She nods and says she felt the same way when she was *cough* 22.

And honestly, I don't really want to leave. I like my parent's house. I like having a yard, good cable and wireless internet. I like visiting with my parents. I like watching Soapnet with mom at 1am and hogging all the hot water before Dad takes a shower... hehe. I like knowing Elwood can prowl around the field next door for his furry victims. Okay, I don't like knowing the details, but I like that he likes to be a big, brave man-cat playing the field. I like the six minute commute to work. I like most of my neighbors.

So, as I hunt for a new home-sweet-home, I go forward with excitement but also some sadness for what I will be leaving. It feels scary and weird and I wonder if I can do it. And I can. I will!

Stay tuned.

why i love coming home

Oh, I love my home. I love it even more when I am gone for a week or so with random house-sitting jobs and even more random medical studies at ohsu. (more on that someday...)

Tonight, I returned home. Happily. To overflowing laundry baskets, piles of (paid!) bills that need to be filed away in my ridiculous filing system, and the recorded shows on the dvr. Oh, the dvr. How did I live without it? Its really true that being able to record shows changes the way you watch tv. I left my room looking fairly close to a pig-sty, and my bed isn't even made! Terrible!

I don't care. Its my bed. My lovely twin(!) red bed with the firm mattress and way-cute, carefully picked out for their cuteness sheets and my lovely flannel comforter with fun red cherries on it (that I've had since college and will never get rid of if I can help it.) Not even the (very comfortable) bed of the house-sitting gig that I had to share with Bailey the Dog who things he can sprawl across the bed and I am supposed to curl up in a ball and make way for his comfort can replace my beautiful bed! And, of course, not the oh-so-comfy hospitol bed at oshu with thin blankets and sheets and where I couldn't sleep on my side because of the ivs sticking out of both wrists (Really, I will explain this better soon) could never replace my red bed.

I also love the water pressure in the shower and the super hot water that washes so much stress away. I love getting to chat with my mom and catching up on the latest dramas on General Hospital together.

And I love all my fun, colorful decorations in my room. And all my books. And my pen and Crayloa products collection.  And my alarm clock! I can wake up and listen to The Buzz tomorrow!

And, of course, there is Elwood. The best black-and-white cat in the whole, entire world. Who hasn't stopped following me around since I got home and purrs like a mad-man-cat when I pick him up or scratch his head. He isn't even giving me that typical "I'm going to pretend to be mad at you now" act that cats will often do when you "abandon" them.

*Happy sigh* I love being home. Can you tell?

What do you love most about coming home after being away?

before and after: no more naked tree

 

I promised myself I wouldn't decorate my little naked Christmas tree until I "finished" fall term.

(Don't you love the peacock painting? $1.99 at Goodwill. I love, love, love it Mom hated it. The bird's nest is my own work. Oil pastels.)

So, I've been tripping over this lovely box:

Guess what?

I finished. I emailed in the last essay. Took my last final. No more discussion boards... until January. I won't know my final grades until later. Until then, I will enjoy my newly decorated tree. This is the view from the right:

I don't really have a theme. Lots of Mary Englebreit, cowboys, santas & snowmen, and, of course, black- and-white cats. (You can't really see them though. The blue ornament in the front is handpainted and has cats on it. Was a gift from a co-worker. Actually, most of the non-Mary Engelbreit and cowboy ornaments are from co-workers. The log cabin is supposed to be Laura Engall's home. Just so you know.)

Here's the tree from the left side:

 

You can kinda make out the black-and-white cat face on the blue ornament! Can you tell I love the color red? The little girls in the popcicle frame are Ally & Colby, my fav kids from nanny days.

There you go. It's Christmas time.

crazy cat lady cori (no exaggerations here)

My life has gone to the cats. And I am totally serious. *total serious face on* And to make this post even more exciting: parts of this could be rated "V" for Violent. Warning, warning!

I am on my fourth? fifth? house-sitting gig of the summer, which overlaps another house-sitting gig. Currently, I am taking care of Sammy the Spoiled, Skinny Gray Cat that lives in a beautiful mansion on the mountainside of Oregon City. He left me a treat today: a very cute, but very dead mouse. (Somehow, this one was kind of cute. Not sure how.) He's (Sammy, not the mouse!) sitting next to me as I type; he follows me around to whatever room I am in. Last night I thought he was going to walk into the shower (which is a giant tiled masterpiece of a room with two shower heads) with me.

When I am not living in the lap of luxury here (which sadly ends tomorrow morning!), I am caring for four kitties belonging to one of my co-workers, who (along with her family) is at Shasta Houseboats with the church high school group. She has four kitties: Angel, who is white with weird gray markings, likes to nap and sunbathe, and has been a very obedient kitty so far, I must say.

I was warned about Bob (featured above), the neurotic girl cat with calico coloring and a penchant for clawing screen doors. Bob has behaved as well. Shasta, the youngest and the softest kitty ever, will purr like a machine if she lets you hold her. And, well, I was told there was a fourth kitty named Minty, but apparently she doesn't like to make appearances too often—too busy hunting, etc.

Starting on Saturday, I begin a new house-sitting job for the tech pastor. I've house-sat for his family often, and I and his kitties have a real relationship. One of them, (I can never remember names) I call fondly "Scary Cat." She hisses and doesn't seem to care for me much. "Nice Kitty," however, I like and she likes me. Follows me around, wants me to hold her, groom her, and pet her. We tend to snuggle and watch TV together on the amazing new HD TV residing at this house. I think there are kitties at the house after that… hmmm.

Of course, I also have my own cat brood. While, I claim to own only one of the four—somehow, I still manage to find myself feeding all of them. Moochie, TeeTee and Elliott all belong to my mother. Elwood, the frequent, reoccurring star of this blog, is mine. I am making frequent visits home, so he doesn't get too mad at me. I think he just wants me to feed him. But today, oh today… I found myself hugging him and crying into his oddly patterned black and white fur.

So, now to the traumatic moment of my day... *deep breath* (This is the part that may be rated "V.")

After work, I drove to my real home, grabbed some things, got the mail, cuddled Elwood, and then left to go to Angel/Bob/Shasta/Minty's house to make sure all was cool with those cats. Driving along on Tilstrom Road (which if you know it, you know people drive fast on it!) I slowed down when a SUV before me was also slowing down… to my horror… to avoid hitting a black with white-toes kitty. And failed. I witnessed it all. Every terrible moment. The kitty trying to move to avoid getting crushed, failed, hit the tire, and then pushed itself like a broken rag doll, flipping like a fish out of water, across the road into the grassy hillside, of which I imagined to be his home. It was terrible. I didn't know what to do. The cat was still alive. The SUV was pulling over. Cars were behind me, so I kept moving forward. Shocked. As I continued to drive, I ached to go back and make the kitty was okay. In a weird slow-motion, I found myself at Angel/Bob/Shasta/Minty's house. I made sure their food and water dishes were full. Gave them all a cuddle and secured them inside the house. Then, I left and made my way back to the scene of the cat-astrophe.

As I passed the spot, I couldn't see anything, but then, in my rear view mirror, I saw her. The owner leaned over a blanket moving back and forth. What do I do? I made a quick turn, and drove to where she was, parked my car, and crossed the road carefully to where she was… I looked at her and she was sobbing. She was on the phone to her husband, asking for him to come home and help her know what to do. I smiled at her and sat down next to her. When she was off the phone, I told her I had seen what happened, and I loved cats. I must have sounded a bit crazy.

She introduced me to Katie, who was still alive and breathing really hard. She was beautiful, and had (like Elwood) weird markings on her face. She was Elwood's age and the same coloring at Elle, Elwood's mom and my cat while I was at OSU. Looking at Katie, I remembered Elle and how hard it was to lose her. How much I loved her. The woman explained to me, she just didn't know what to do. That this was the third cat she's lost to this road. And she was having a hard week. Just had a fight with her daughter. As she gently petted Katie, and tried to warm her up, my heart longed so much to bring whatever comfort I could to his woman. I sat with her, and petted Katie, saying sweet words of her bravery in making it back to the other side of the road when she was in pain. The woman kept telling me I could go, that I didn't need to be there, but it was so hard to leave.

When I finally did break away, I drove back to my real home, went inside and headed straight for Elwood. (He saw my teary face and ran under the bed. Really.) I coaxed him out, and picked him up and held him tight. Why do we get so close to animals? When they have such short lives with us? I cried and cried and cried. I cried for Katie and her owner. For the husband when he got home, who would have to "figure it out." I cried for Elle and how much I miss her little sassy self. And I cried just because I was tired.

---

Well, Sammy the Spoiled, Skinny Gray cat is mewing at the door. (Doesn't he know its rainy outside?) And I have my book—"The Unlikely Cat Lady" to read a bit on tonight… or not. Not sure I want to read about TNR and ferals and cats dying (as I read about last night when poor "Sid" died after being attacked by another bad feral cat.) I think I just want to sleep.

house-sitting and the fourth of july

the fourth of july is not my favorite holiday. maybe i am not patriotic enough?

i don't know why i don't love it more. its a paid holiday. thats a lovely enough reason. i love the colors red, white and blue. maybe its because this holiday is a holiday to spend with others, with bowls of potato salad and bbq chicken and burgers and dozens of kids running around laughing until they collapse and cuddle with their moms underneath blankets as they watch the big firework show with the hands over their ears, of course.

but i always end up choosing to spend it alone. despite multiple invites from friends and family. though i usually have a pretty good reason.

the last several years (with the exception of Ft. Vancouver one year with girl friends) i have spent the fourth of july house-sitting. taking care of other's animals and plants. in fact this week or so alone, if you include caring for my own house and animals, i have cared for five different households in some aspect or another. i am not complaining, i have made enough money to pay for a ridiculously high cell phone bill (due to an increase in text messages last month, ooops.)

all the years are blending together... so i can't remember what year i did what... but one fourth of july was spent house-sitting at my aunt and uncles house and my friend ang joined me. we watched the firework show on tv and rented scandalous movies (well, controversial... am sworn to secrecy what was watched. haha.) Another year, i spent house-sitting for a family from church. three dogs. bark. bark. bark. at every firework lit outside.

this year, i am helping a friend out with a regular house-sitting job as she was double-booked. two little dogs, a cat and millions of plants (in a beautiful backyard!) i find myself feeling like i am living in a cave. staying home with the dogs as they are freaking out at every firework lit by the guys across the street. and not talking or seeing anyone human (beyond facebook chat conversations and quick texts.)

somehow i don't mind as much being alone. maybe because i chose for it to be this way. maybe because i am being paid to take care of these dogs and i take my committments seriously. maybe because i just returned from standing on the back deck. fireworks filled the sky from all angles. Happy Valley. Gresham. Portland. sure, some trees were in the way... but it amazing. just me, standing alone on the deck watching beautiful colors fill the sky. and for about three minutes it was a perfect moment and all was good in the world.