Second, you know it’s coming, so we might as well count it down together.
35 days away. Seems like plenty to prepare for a train wreck, if you were expecting one.
I’m not wholly sure if you should be expecting one or not. I don’t know if I should be, either.
I’ve set aside 14 days. Just in case.
I’ve also put myself out there – every day – since that day someone I didn’t know said something that changed everything.
Followed by that day, I thought I was safely anonymous amongst 66K people; letting out what I’d learned on that something someone said day on inspirational site.
Trent Shelton. Remember when I suggested y’all follow him?
Well, no one told me they did. So, I found out the hard way that I hadn’t been honest with the universe as stealthily as I imagined. That night I wrote to no one but myself. That morning I found out my words had been seen.
Notification: 2 likes.
?
Clicked out of curiosity; hoping to find a kindred discussionist or two, only to nauseously realize I’d inadvertently let my private cat out the bag.
Those two likes? My brother and my brother-in-law. Cowardly non-addressed, at least, until now.
Since then, though. Since October 2020, there’s been this reoccurring theme. Everywhere I turn.
Books I’ve read, motivational quotes, inspirational stories, sermons I’ve heard, songs I’ve taken to, have all been telling me the same thing:
“You’re not the one who died.”
Obviously, I’ve been well aware of that. What I haven’t been aware of is… anything else.
It’s entirely mind boggling. 35 days until 15 not 20. 20 is the sun eclipsed by the 15 moon, because. My God. 15?
It’s going to be a bit of a non-chronological heap. I’m almost out of time, but I wanna get the good stuff in or get it out or just share it dammit.
.
One request: If you’ve got a JSK story, share it on Knabble. Or email it to me.
I’ll get it out there for you. For us; for all of us.
It’s been an unbelievable year since the dusty little furball I now call Nala-Mia showed up.
She’s been with HBlu and I during some rough times. She was with us the day that leashed Blu was attacked by an unleashed dog. Interestingly, she showed no fear, waiting and watching. She followed us home, as she had been for a few weeks. I already worried about her at night; was relieved when she’d show up for breakfast. Was overjoyed the first day she let me touch her; the first day she ate from my hand.
We’ve been through a few twists and turns, barely avoiding craters of disaster. When she showed signs of respiratory distress, I feared the worst. I wasn’t able to get her into the carrier the first two times I tried. The third time wasn’t easy or graceful, but, it was successful. I figured she’d be annoyed with me, after that. I didn’t figure she’d be lost for three days in an animal hospital, and end up traumatized and unexamined.
Much like Harley Blu after his encounter, she just wasn’t the same when I got her back. She’s still a bit skittish if I move too fast toward her standing up. If I’m sitting, reclining, sleeping – she’s a love-bug.
Much like Harley Blu, I want her back the way she was before she was damaged. He’s getting there with the help of meds and chiropractic therapy. She’s in love with him, and he seems to be more understanding of that, lately.
I’ll confess, at times, I feel badly for them, both. HB was an only cat-child for almost 9 years. His breed has a preference for being the sole focus of attention. She just doesn’t completely understand the cat world. She has learned to play – as opposed to being terrified of strings and catnip mice. She has learned to interpret the exact moment when Blu has had enough play, and she scurries away.
I know Blu doesn’t like sharing. I know Nala-Mia wanted back out for several months. She’s not pursuing that as much. With hope, I interpret that as she is comfortable rather than defeated. I also know that the pre-yawn snap of her isn’t a real reflection of joy.
It is however, a real reflection of my joy. It is a comfort that she is safe – not hungry, not frozen, and bot likely to get run-over by a car.
I’ve mentioned before, COVID gave me the time to be patient with her. Afforded me hours of adjustment while working from home. So, I was particularly excited to see a call for Pandemic Pet Adoption stories. Our short-story appeared in Michigan Medicine Headlines this week. In fact, that brief (very brief), 223-word, 2 paragraph “caption,” turned into a more concise 165 word account.
So, maybe it may not have had to take as many words to summarize.
The struggle to reduce is still real. I’m still all for details, and, maybe, mildly less distrustful of edits.
My big-picture presentation will always be a gloriously detailed meal. Though, I concede, an edit is admirable as a taste-tempting appetizer.
Do I have a password? If I was me, what would my password be?
Dagnabit. One try and I bailed on my brain. Just went straight to re-set.
It’s now a minute or so after midnight, and I’m refreshing every 2 seconds waiting for email prompt.
New password secured. Log back in? For the Love of Pete, just let me into the club!
In. Finally. Fully expecting to be ‘sorry’d’ as in, “You’re too late. Supply is gone.”
Data-entry detailed entered. To my surprise, I when I hit the sign-me-up, it actually went through.
My reservation was confirmed at 12:06 AM. Seemed like a long six minutes, to me.
Here are your reservation details: MYSTERY GARDEN PIÑATA KIT, filled with mystery seed bombs and growfetti. Date: April 15, 2021, Time: 5:00pm to 7:00pm with curbside pickup.
What kinds of gardenly delights did I get? I have no idea, yet.
Here’s why.
Super cute flower box to be smashed. Neighbors. And super iffy Michigan weather.
Mystery had me stymied as to where I should, when I should. My first thought was to whack at it in the empty bed that gets late afternoon/early evening sun at the height of summer. I wondered what kind of disorderly garden would result from a random seed drop. I envisioned the beating, and realized, I couldn’t.
Too many complications. Could I hold the piñata in one hand and whack with the other? That’d required some extra coordination on my part. How much strength is needed to break it? Suppose I missed and thumped the arm holding it? Supposed they’d get a laugh down at urgent-care about that considering my first two closely occurring visits likely put me on the Jeff-kinda-accidents you’re-never-gonna-believe-this list of odd injuries.
Could I put it on the ground and pummel it there? Standing and leaning down or kneeling next to it? Also, not optimal. Dirty knees or butt in the air? And that’s when it occurred to me. “Oh! Neighbors!” Yeah, they’d get an interesting show for sure. So, nixed.
You know, if you inspect packages, you can find directions and suggestions and stuff. The tag touted a web address that would tell you what you were getting. Ok, then, here we go.
Except, nope. Nowhere could I find a description of what would be random-planted when breakage was achieved.
There were very helpful, detailed instructions. But, wouldn’t have been if you just went along with the vague suggestion of destruction. Never would I have conjured any of them on my own. Maybe, it’s the not-a-gardener thing. Maybe, it’s intuitive to folks who don’t need to intuition because they already know what they’re doing.
Anyway, to summarize:
1. Plant outside in early spring. Or start the seeds inside and transplant later. (head tilt)
2. Soak the seed balls and seed paper in water. Overnight. (head tilt the other way)
3. Place the wet seed paper in a planter. (not the ground? what about the seed balls? shoulder hunch)
4. Water well, especially during the first 4 – 6 weeks. (oh, dear. inside, with two cats… head drop)
All right, time to switch gears.
I supposed I could successfully start ’em in the waterless aquarium where I currently grow cat grass. The set-up keeps it safely out of greenery over-eating, paw-sweeping, this would look better on the floor, kitty fur ball reach.
Curiosity was still with me. As I recalled, piñatas have to be filled, right? So, somewhere on the exactly-as-advertised lovely looking novelty, by reason, there’s gotta be a secret latch or patch or something.
Turns out, it was two pieces, easy to press apart. As promised, there were colorful seed balls and fun growfetti. The 4 round orbs were good-sized, and the pile of fluttery stuff was shredded well.
I haven’t soaked or planted, yet. It was 70 degrees on Saturday, and it snowing on Tuesday. Michigan’s sneaky like that. They call it, ‘false spring’ or ‘second winter.’ I don’t fall for that, anymore.
May Day is coming up. I’ll celebrate appropriately.
I’ll let you know what comes up in 6 weeks, if I can figure that out.
knabble 