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There Are Weeds In My Garden

I’m guilty. I suspect many of us are, as it’s often hard to see the flowers past the weeds. As a gardener, I focus on that weed – that thing marring my beautiful bed, my spread of comfort and projected perfection. If I can just remove that weed, taproot and all, the world will right itself and the blossoms will open their faces to the sun with happiness.


I had a traumatic childhood – welcome to the world – it has taken me a number of years to realize I don’t stand alone. But when, as a teenager, you’re elbow deep in unhappiness that permeates your soul, and then as an adult, you’re lugging that heavy baggage everywhere you go, you tend to concentrate on the ‘woe is me’. Oh sure, I looked outwards. Even today, as we drive down the road, I stare at each house we pass, wondering what’s happening inside. Does that window showcase a functioning family unit, filled with conversation and smiles? Or is there a small child in there, cowering behind the screaming and violence? But until I came of age where I really absorbed the news stories and read all the published memoirs of survival, I thought my experiences were some of the worst. I now realize they pale in comparison to many.


That’s not to discount my experience in any way; even in my 60’s I am still working on my demons. It’s been a long process. As I approached the world of paychecks, I focused on careers where I could ‘fix’ things. When I picked substance abuse counseling as a career in college, a very wise professor took me aside to discuss my direction. While certainly a worthy cause and a field ripe with need, he said, unless I could make peace with myself and my history, the suitcases I was carrying would never get unpacked. He had a point, but I knew I needed to be in a field where I could help others. I shifted focus first, to rehab counseling, then working with the hearing impaired, and finally, when dealing with school politics became overwhelming, to rescuing cats. By making the world a better place in however small a way, I would help to create happiness for others.


Now, in the last third of my life, I am working to focus on how much I have to be thankful for, and to appreciate the small things. I still get enjoyment in giving to others, realizing that at least half of my personal pleasure comes from making someone else happy. For the other half, I am learning to dance with my demons. While my ideal remains a pristine garden bed full of beautiful blooms, I’m working hard to take the weeds in stride.

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A Leap of Faith

I knew he didn’t have long to live. And he was nothing like I wanted. I wanted someone I could mold – someone I could grow with, who could grow with me. I was going to shape their personality – going to make them just like my last one – going to create a replica of my first soulmate I had growing up. I had to have a kitten.

I had searched everywhere. Watched the classified ads. Scanned the bulletin boards. Even posted a few “Wanted” ads. Nowhere could I find that perfectly pointed, bat-eared complainer to be my bud. True, it wasn’t the heart of kitten season. But they were still being born, I knew it. The neighbor down the road had a slew of them – black, orange, tabbies, calicos – but no Siamese. The dumpster at the Landfill was overflowing with them – and I even saw one that mimicked a tortie – but they were feral. I had never imagined it could be this hard.

And then I came of age. The internet. But of course. They had everything, or at least, a way to find it. And so I did my search.

Low and behold, there it was. A goldmine. The candy shop of all candy shops. One stop shopping. I scanned the pictures, all 115 of them. Available in every color, shape and size. My eyes glistened. I could feel him calling to me. Just a click away, the address loomed larger than life. There was a local rescue that was jam packed with cats – who knew?

The tips of my fingers tingled as I scanned the photos. Would he be there waiting for me? Would I know when I saw him? Would I see it in his eyes?

My heart sank. “Left in a basement for 8 years, I nip for attention.” “Got given up for eating the dog’s food and throwing up everywhere.” “Sensitive stomach, special diet needed.” Oh no. None of these sounded right. They were too old. Too encumbered with issues. Too behaviorally involved. I had just lost one, the heartache had been so deep. I just couldn’t go there again. Besides, they would never bond with me. They had loved someone else – I could never be the apple of their eye.

Maybe if I called. Maybe there were other cats not yet on the website. Maybe they had my soulmate waiting in the wings. Maybe I could explain just what I needed and someone would understand. What did I have to lose?

“… an application process. We don’t get kittens that often…..We concentrate on matchmaking of personalities….. 3-5 days to get approved….. You’ll be assigned an Interviewer….You should be approved before visiting…..” Goodness. I wasn’t adopting a child. This sounded like an incredible amount of work. Since none of the other adoption avenues were fruitful, I guess I didn’t have much to lose. Might as well start the process, though it certainly seemed more tedious than necessary.

(Five days pass by…….)

So I’m finally approved. While I know they are only concerned I provide a good home, I feel as if they have checked me inside, outside and upside down. I’m on my way to the Rescue Center where I’m hoping the cat of my dreams will be waiting. Someone small, cute, bouncy, silly and mischievous, all wrapped up into one. Someone who will pounce on my shoelace and climb on my shoulder and snuggle in my hair. He’s out there, I just know it……

The cats know why I’m here. Some of them come running, having mastered Adoption 101. A few amble nonchalantly in my direction. Several peer from atop perches scattered around the room. My heart beats fast. I talk with each one, and we carefully size each other up. Introductions are made. I wait for that moment – that clicking of souls as we search each other’s eyes for the sign. An edge of panic creeps in. What if he’s not here? What if, of all these cats, my soulmate hasn’t yet arrived?

The Director is patient. She discusses each cat in depth – their likes and dislikes, their quirks and idiosyncrasies. They all seem nice, but no one fits quite right. Just as I was afraid – they’re all too much of this, too little of that. I try to squelch my disappointment. I can wait, there’ll be another time. I have to work hard to keep my tears in check, as I listen bravely to the Director telling me not to worry, that someone will come along….

As I turn to leave, a twitching ear poking from under a blanket-covered lump catches the corner of my eye. Not holding out much hope, I figure ‘what the heck’ and point to the lump. “Not the best candidate,” says the Director. “An older gentleman, medically involved and behaviorally challenged, he’s on his umpteenth home in the same number of years. We figure he’s probably here to stay, which is fine, but he will be close to impossible to place.” My curiosity is peaked. I lower myself to ear level and gently lift the corner of the blanket…………

Three years later, and I still haven’t gotten the kitten who will pounce on my shoelace and climb on my shoulder and snuggle in my hair. Instead, I got a cat who upchucks when he’s bothered, who pulls his hair out when he gets nervous, and who often doesn’t make it to the litterbox. I got an old guy who sits on the side of the tub and holds deep, meaningful conversations with me, who snuggles in my arm with his head on my pillow every night, and who, without reservation, adores me for me. While he looks nothing like what I expected, I truly have found my soulmate.

Alfonso P. Wallabee
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Get Me Outta Here (or the Lament of a Shelter Cat)

Lies lies lies….she waltzes in here half-dressed – hasn’t even brushed her teeth some mornings! LATE for breakfast no less. I mean, we expect to eat by at least 9am and sometimes, SOMETIMES on Sunday mornings we don’t eat until 9:01!!! She IGNORES our constant requests for FRESH tuna and scallops and instead has the NERVE to feed us canned junk. On warm days we PROMISE to stay on the black top and not venture off onto the grass and she REFUSES to even let us peek out the door. We tell her again AND AGAIN we are just FINE and to quit poking and prodding us and she INSISTS we get back into that d**n carrier and go see Dr. So and So when we just want to be left alone to snooze. She interrupts our afternoon naps with Beethoven sonatas and she tells us we have to smile and purr and kiss up to the gobs of beans who troop through here every weekend. She is downright MEAN AND AWFUL! Get us OUT OF HERE SOON and into a REAL home!!!!

Ivan and Skipper (2005) complaining about the accomodations at Siamese Rescue
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The Rescuer’s Promise

Day in and day out I trapse through the crowds of animals in our shelter, but it is one night, after midnight, when it hits me. The expressions on all those furry faces as they look at me, ever so expectantly, stop me in my tracks. There they sit, on the cat tree, inside the condo, behind the bag of food, inside the open carrier. Under the blanket peeking out; standing right in front of me. Umpteen eyes watching, waiting, and hoping.
There are big eyes, small eyes, all sorts of colors, beaming their innermost thoughts at me. Sure, some of it is ‘did you bring treats’, but on a deeper level, I see hope, trust, belief in my ability. How can they have so much faith? How can their history tinged with reality translate into such a magnitude of confidence?
Yet they have it. You can see it. And the pressure can be overwhelming.
For we, as Rescuers, have made a commitment. We have promised each one of them that there is hope. We have worked to overcome their past and told them we could brighten their future. They accept our promises. They have faith in us, even as we struggle to recreate their story.
Trusting us with their lives, they take it day by day, confident we will fix things. They have learned that the hands here are good ones, whether they bring breakfast or antibiotics. It matters not, for we have given them reason to believe.
And we walk in that door, early in the morning, late at night, and there they are. Ready. Waiting. Wondering if the promise we made them is about to come true. Doesn’t matter that it’s nearly midnight, or that the sun hasn’t even risen yet. Maybe. Just maybe it will be their turn to walk into a carrier and go to a furever home. They wait patiently, relying on us to rebuild their future.
I want to give them my heart. My soul. To lay down with each one of them in my arms. To show them what it will be like again one day. I want, more than anything, to bring their dreams to reality, tonight.
Another day comes and goes. An extra scritch here, a soft word there. But it’s not the same as a home. It’s not what they dream about, what they hope for, what we promised. Not yet.
We’ve done good, but we are far from finished. We will get there – because they believe in us, and we won’t let them down.

Koda was in the program for 1175 days before the purrfect adopter came around.
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Chocolate Peppermint Cookies

Today’s adventure in baking was a recipe from a tried and true website, Sally’s Baking Addiction. I have made umpteen recipes from that site, as well as purchasing one of her cookbooks, and everything is always excellent.
Chocolate peppermint cookies. Well, it goes without saying that you have to like peppermint, because they are quite pepperminty. The cookies are a nice combo of chocolate and peppermint and are a bit chewier than a sugar cookie but pillowy enough not to be dry in anyway, AND they have chocolate chips in, yum. The cookie is topped with an American buttercream flavored with peppermint, and then topped with crushed candy canes which gives them a nice holiday color. Rich, pretty, and a great choice for gift giving (today it’s the UPS and Fed Ex driver). I’ve given them about an hour sitting out in the air so that the buttercream gets a light crust on it and then I can stack them carefully for gift giving. Highly recommend her website and recipes!

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The Geezer Pledge

You’re getting slower my friend, but that’s okay. You look a bit confused, a bit dazzled at times by the same environment. The light in your eyes is there, yet it is blurred. Your voice is raspy – you ramble on and on about things that were, and are, and should have been. You look up, ever so loving, ever so needing, yet ever so confused. Your daily sojourns become residences; your historical curiosity becomes confusion. You enjoy, and appreciate, and bask in the warmth of a kind hand, a warm heart, a soft voice – yet you are bewildered. Each visit is a trek of immense proportions; a journey with destination unknown. You appreciate yet question, determine yet query, navigate yet search the horizons. A soft touch, a reassuring sound, a gentle whisper, and all is calm.

You may question; I will answer. You may be lost; I will find you. You may search for dinner; I will bring it to you. If you can’t find the litter, I will show you, and if I can’t, I will clean up for you. I have made a commitment to you – I will honor that commitment; I will encourage, protect, provide for and support your needs. I am there for you, because you are you, and I love you.

If you have a Geezer, you can hear me.
Whiskey
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Squirrel Squatter

Six years ago we put up a screech-owl house. It wasn’t easy, mind you, given it had to go 30 feet up in an old tree on a slope. Having always loved birds, and with a fairly good-sized feeding station behind the house where I track the species that visit, I was anxious to add the screech-owl to the list.

Year one and two the owl house stood empty, but year three? I screeched in delight to see brown ears poking up, only to discover that the ears belonged to squirrels, not owls. (Maybe it would become a Bed and Breakfast?) They taunted me with their antics, making it clear I was personally responsible for increasing the squirrel population on our property. And then year four rolled around, and the brown ears no longer belonged to a squirrel, but to Scout, as I called him, a rufous-colored Screech. Apparently solitary, he kept watch while I mowed the lawn and worked in the garden, tracking my every movement. I can only think he was checking out the facility to determine its suitability, for this past year he returned, this time with a mate, and the Scout family came to be. What started with one owlet soon increased to four, and many an evening was spent watching them watching me.

Late August they fledged, and this anxious grand-owl was trapsing through the woods, evenings on end, hoping to catch sight or sound of the new family. A few whinnies later and they have disappeared for the winter, turning the property over to, you guessed it, the squirrels.

  • A squirrel house?
  • Squirrel babies abound
  • Scout checks out the facility
  • We’ll take it!
  • We have owlets!
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The Victims of a Throwaway Society

Okay, so I am guilty. I don’t even have that much money and I am guilty of doing it. Something breaks? You get a new one. The flashlight not working? It’s not the batteries, could be the bulb. Heck, for a few bucks at Walmart I just get another one. My daughter rips her shorts. I’m not a seamstress, we bought another pair. The handle broke off the rake the other day. They say it’s guaranteed for life. Too much work, too little time to write the company, package the rake, and return it. By the time I purchase shipping materials and pay postage, I might as well buy a new one. And the cost to get a repairman out to fix the washing machine almost equals what I would pay for a brand new one on sale.

Our busy schedules, our need for immediate gratification and solution, and the pressure of getting it all done leads, in many instances, to us ‘throwing out the old and getting new.’  While we may teach our kids the value of saving money by watching for sales or working within a budget, our actions often belie our words. We toss things aside when they break, or get old, or simply take up too much space, and buy new ones.

Unfortunately, this mentality can permeate all aspects of family life. And in some families, nothing is sacred.

Think about that 75 pound dog the neighbor got ten years ago as a cute little puppy? He now has hip dysplasia, can’t always make it down the steps, and occasionally messes in the house. There’s no one to help him down the steps as he’s so heavy and no time to clean up the accidents on the floor. The 15 year old cat who for, yes, 15 years has been someone’s faithful, lifelong bed buddy?  He is now confused, meowing most of the night, and the parents can’t take it – busy lives, they need their rest. And that pair of kittens the kids got for Christmas? They’re now full-grown cats, sharpening their claws on grandmother’s antique chairs, giving mom a headache.

These are just some of the stories we hear in rescue – the list goes on and on. The folks who have too much going on in their lives and have no time to worry about the cat who now has glaucoma and can’t see; the ones whose kids grew tired of the puppy they got for Christmas when they have to walk it before and after school; the family whose kitten grew up to have food allergies and now requires a special diet. What are these people to do? They’ve been saddled with something that no longer fits the mold – something that is no longer easy, convenient, or inexpensive.

Well, if it’s like most everything else in society today, you toss it out. “We can always get another cat when we move,” the mother tells her sobbing daughter. “The dog will be better off in the shelter where she has a chance to be adopted by someone who has the time,” says the dad. “I just don’t have the time or the money to deal with this problem any longer,” says each person in the parade of individuals that walk through our shelters’ doors.

So shelters and rescues suck it up. We take what we can fit, what we can cram into every spare cage and corner. We help what we can afford, with budgets that are already stretched too thin.  But despite our best efforts, our endless compassion and hard effort, there are too many animals out there in need, too few cages, too little money, and not enough help. We are just spread too thin. So what happens to those animals that we can’t get to? To those animals that don’t fit in our already crammed cages, or for whom there isn’t a spare penny? Yup, you got it. Many of those animals will actually make a trash bin.

So have at it. Toss that flashlight and by yourself a new one. Get that new dishwasher you’ve been needing when it goes on sale. But a pet? They are family members. Be responsible. Teach your children the right thing. You brought them into your family. It’s not up to someone else to take care of them when they become a challenge. Think carefully before surprising those kiddos with the gift of a pet for the holidays. While there are, in some cases, legitimate reasons for rehoming a pet, not having spent the time upfront to consider the responsibility a pet brings with it, is not one of them.  

Mr. Bibbles required a diaper change four times a day, but it completely solved the out of box concerns for our family!
Mr. Bibbles, The Best Cat Ever, In His Diaper.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PvCj5tvkde0
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Buttercream Varieties, Part A

Working my way through the buttercreams!
American Buttercream – so far my favorite I think. It is the frosting of the grocery store bakeries, sweet, puffy with a thin crust on it when it air dries. I have found that if I go halvesy using butter and margarine, it is a bit more to my liking. Just a little less intense in the butter department. I do like sweet things, though, and this is definitely very sweet.
Swiss Meringue Buttercream – tried this earlier in the week. This one you cook the egg whites with sugar until the sugar dissolves (5-10min) and then beat 10 min or so, then add butter, then beat another 10 min or so. This one came out well and held the jam taste very well; it is pillowy, no crust to it, and not that sweet. Was not that hard to make although the note to myself says to make sure the sugar dissolves all the way and ideally to use a candy thermometer. The long beating time is key though, so time it. And so far one of the best ways to get the jam taste to shine through. Note: if you want the pillowy texture, eat at room temp. If you want more of a solidified buttery texture, eat cold.
German Buttercream – had more trouble with this one. You make an egg custard first on the stove which I did successfully, then, when cool, beat that into whipped butter for about 5 minutes. For some reason the custard didn’t fully incorporate, or I overcooked the custard just a little, so I had minute chunks of custard in the frosting instead of smooth, although it was not really that noticeable. More noticeable to the eye than in taste, and not nearly as fluffy, as you can see from picture below (although it would have been pipeable if I had wanted). In the example below, I flavored the buttercream with a salted caramel sauce; flavor was not overly intense but subtle. Note: if you want the pillowy texture, eat at room temp. If you want more of a solidified buttery texture, eat cold.
Ermine Buttercream – this one I tried last year. This is another make a custard first and then whip into butter, though this one doesn’t use egg in the custard, whereas German Buttercream does. This one was SO buttery tasting to me (just thick with butter, I felt like i was eating a stick of butter); although the recipe touts it as a very neutral buttercream, I wasn’t a fan.
Russian, Italian and French – Stay Tuned!

German Buttercream
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Peruvian Lilies

Does anyone love these as much as I do? Peruvian Lilies, also known as Lily of the Incas or Alstroemeria, are commonly used in floral bouquets as fillers – but I just love them by themselves. They are inexpensive, they last absolutely forever, and they are just so pretty! I have some growing in my garden (zone 7a) but have yet to see if they will overwinter – last year they made a small showing, but not enough for cut flowers.

Lily of the Incas