It’s been a long time since I’ve listened to a book in a day. It’s been a long time since I’ve worked in the yard by myself. Check, check. Feels good.
Chris has been asking for a cat for years now, but I’ve never owned a cat and don’t really feel like a cat person. Over the last week, though, three things happened: I cat-sat for a friend, a neighbor found a mouse in her kitchen, and I read an article about all of the black cats who go un-adopted at the shelter every year. So yesterday, we went to the shelter for the sole purpose of taking home the biggest, blackest cat that had been there the longest.
This guy* was surrendered a few months ago during a family’s move. He has been leading the kitty crew and stealing food as payment ever since, reportedly earning himself the nickname Cat Block Boss. Welcome to the fam, you chunky weirdo. I love you already.
*Pictures do not describe how wide and heavy this boy’s booty is. His weight is literally off of the chart on his kibble bag.
This may not mean much to folks who live at lower latitudes… but our spectacular sunrises have returned, after a summer sans.
We went to a musical at the high school tonight, put on by our local community theater. I watched my friends perform, and the kids saw their friends and teachers and coaches in a different element. We danced in our seats and sang our hearts out… except for Chris, who sat front row and took photos and shouted I love this town over and over.
It is important today to remember that my leadership style is often a sequence of making decisions with confidence and decidedness, and then changing my mind when presented with new information. There is also a lot of swallowing my pride and words and spit, and a lot of biting of my tongue a half second too late.
September is sepsis awareness month, a time for me to talk until I’m blue in the face about deadly infections that sneak into all sorts of bodies right in front of us in the hospital, deadly infections that take our friends and family and total strangers, deadly infections that often start out looking like nothing more than a subtle shift in blood pressure. September is a time for me to call to arms the power of knowledge and timing and a sharp eye. September is a time for me to wage war on a scourge that simply ought not be.
Every September for the last nineteen years, a local artist named Mavis has led my community in an interactive art experience, a night designed for remembrance and unburdening.
To celebrate summer’s goodbye, a giant basket is erected on the beach from natural materials that have reached their season’s end, such as alders and fireweed and peonies. On the night of the event, people gather at the basket and pin notes to the structure’s walls, memorializing loved ones and things lost in the last year. At sunset, the basket is set ablaze to the sounds of cheers and claps and drums and whistles.
Last night, I got to attend my first Burning Basket Project. It was just as beautiful as I anticipated.
