Summer Solstice

Ah, the summer solstice came yesterday. I'd planned my normal Druid dance to celebrate. Because I was working all day, I wanted to dance at dark, several hours after the true solstice.

I could have been dancing at 5 pm. Why? On the longest day of the year, it was almost completely dark by 4:30. Overhead was a thunderstorm. I don't dance when there is lightning. I thought I'd wait. Two and a half hours and two and a half inches of rain, later, it was still dark, still rainy, and still too dangerous to dance outside.

So much for the summer solstice. So much for dancing. Pooh.

People Behaving Badly

I really wanted to avoid calling this post "Men Behaving Badly," because women behave badly too. What is it with people who have a lot of perceived power suddenly think they are God's gift to the opposite sex? I mean, it's probably been going on since the dawn of time, but we didn't have YouTube, blogs, Facebook and Twitter at the dawn of time.
Why do these people think it's all right to have affairs? Look at a small number of those who did most recently. And look at what happened to their careers and marriages.

One former president had an affair in the Oval Office. His wife stood by him. They are still married. He's rebounded into a powerful role in society. Who saw that coming?

Several Congressmen and Senators got caught in the past few years with their pants down. Some are still in Congress; some resigned; some were divorced.

A former vice presidential candidate had an affair while his wife was dying of cancer. Yes, he's cute (if you like that type). Yes, he's coiffed. Yes, he's a jerk. And yes, he's with the woman he had an affair with. You could almost see that one coming.

There's that guy in New York who has three wives and several affairs. He thought he'd run for president, but his comb-over wasn't enough to overcome the types of questions he'd face on the campaign trail. Everyone should have seen this one coming.

Then there's a former Speaker of the House who divorced his dying wife, had several affairs, and asks the electorate to forgive and forget. Like, how's that going to work?

Don't forget the sports heroes who've cheated on their trophy wives, been divored, and seen their careers tank as a result. Small justice for the humiliation their families suffered.

And now we have a Congressman from New York who thinks he's not cheating on his gorgeous (and pregnant) wife when sexting photos of his crotch and engaging in sexual e-mails. What planet did he come from? And when will he leave the headlines?

One thing we can thank two wayward husbands for adding to the American English lexicon. "I'm a sex addict" seems to be a new way of saying "I was horny." And "I was hacked" is a new synonym for "I was stupid."

May they all think about their wives and families before putting themselves in positions where they first feel they have to lie, then have to 'fess up to lying, and then try to wiggle out of the consequences of bad behavior. May we not have to see their names and behaviors plastered all over the papers and news shows. Frankly, none of you are great catches.

A Grandson Balances Everything

If you follow this blog regularly, you know Terry and I recently lost our cat, Nikki. Yes, only a cat to some, but a purry companion to us.

And you know I am getting techy about getting sidetracked and letting what I feel is small stuff pile on. The sabbatical and saying no are two ways to get refocused.

One new focus is Howard Marshall Eriksen, "Howie." We saw him for the first time two weeks ago and fell in love. At two months, his personality is developing. He's a lazy eater who falls asleep with the nipple in his mouth. He's happy and smiles a lot, particularly when he's on a lap or in his rocky, bouncy chair. He's vain, because his rocky, bouncy chair has a mirror tied to it. He can spend an hour staring at the cute baby. He melts down at the adult dinner hour, but calms down for bath and bed. He has the parents and all sets of grandparents wrapped around his little fingers.

Howie has more outfits than any child can wear, but the Payne Stewart outfit was perfect. I hope he becomes a golfer, but more than that, I hope he becomes whatever he wants to be.

Howie is lucky. He has so many sets of grandparents that we all had to sort out what we wanted to be called. Terry thought about his name and decided he would honor his father-in-law and be Pop-Pop.

I write about Mad Max, who doesn't want to be called Grandma or any cute derivitive. I'm like Max. I picked a name that doesn't really mean I'm a grandparent. Oh, no, I won't tell you want it is. I can tell you it is not Mad Max.

R.I.P., Nikki

If you are reading this, you should know that I, Nikki, wrote it. It's my obituary, and I wanted it to be in my words. I passed over today, May 25, at 10:30 in the morning.

I had a terrific life. I came into the world in Lewiston, Idaho, in September, 1994. I was the offspring of a wild barn cat and a tom who was "just passing through." I lived in Uncle Glenn and Aunt Michelle's barn for a few weeks. During that time, Aunt Michelle captured me and began socializing me. I was about three weeks old when my permanent human mother, Betsy, saw me. I was so cute she decided to invite me to live with her and my human father, Terry.

There was only one tiny problem. Uncle Glenn and Aunt Michelle lived in Idaho; Mom and Dad-to-be lived in Ohio. Not a big problem. Uncle Glenn got me a frequent flyer card and delivered me to Ohio just before Christmas.

I loved my new home. My new parents fussed over me (what's not to fuss over with a calico?), gave me a nice house to live in, plenty of toys, lots of good food, and a seemingly endless supplies of mousies in the back yard. I became the mouse killer of the neighborhood.

After a few years, Mom and Dad moved me to Virginia, where I had another nice house and more backyard mousies to eat. We were happy in northern Virginia, until both of my parents got restless and bought some land at Smith Mountain Lake.

They built a house and began taking me to the lake almost every weekend. I had my own traveling condo, a nice cage Dad raised so that I could look outside. Mom says I was a really good traveler. I liked looking out the window, but I liked getting to one of my two houses more. How many cats do you know who have the suburban house AND the country house? Well, I did.

I confess I was ready for my transient life to end. Four years ago it did, when Mom and Dad promised me I wouldn't have to move again. They were almost right. I grew mature and wise on the sunny deck and under my very own miniature Japanese maple tree. I slept in puddles of sunlight on the rug, lay under the Christmas tree and played "find the cat" among the presents, enjoyed drinks of shower water, and many lap naps and pats from my parents. I loved lying on Mom's tummy when she stretched out to read, and I loved lying on Dad's legs at night to watch TV. I didn't like being evicted from tummy and lap with complaints that I was too heavy. I wasn't heavy; I was fluffy.

I declined over the past few months. About three weeks ago, my private friend, Karen, gave Mom a communication from me. I told Karen to tell Mom I was ready to go when I got too frail. She and Dad cried but listened to what I had to say.

Last week, I got really sick, but no one knew it. I got attacked by the bully in the neighboorhood. This mean cat bit me on the shoulder, but I didn't know it. I knew he bit my ear, but no one knew about the shoulder. I grew a large absess that finally broke open this week. I couldn't fight this off, and I didn't want to. I gave Mom and Dad plenty of love the last two days. Then I asked them to help me go into the light, my last move. Today, they did.

Please don't cry for me. I had a great life and left it much loved, with memories no one can take away. I hope Mom and Dad stop crying soon. Eventually, I want them to get another calico. It won't be me, but they have so much love to give any calico who came to live with them would be in Kitty Nirvana.

Good bye, my friends. I had a great life. and I had the last word.