Bye, Bye, Bees

It was a final farewell today. Someone purchased our empty hives with all of the equipment that accompanies bee tending. They are gone for good, along with any nostalgia that remained when I gazed at the empty hives. It's funny that I would miss something as impersonal as bees, but I did. Even in the middle of winter, when the weather rose to the 40's in the middle of the day, I would wander out in the back yard and watch those little hummers leave the warmth of their hive to relieve themselves far from their clean home. It was not as much fun as watching them in the spring and summer when they buzzed back to the hive laden down with yellow pollen, but it was more reassuring to see them fly in and out in the cold and bleakness of winter, an amazing sign of life humming inside of those small white boxes.

There are not many wild bees in our back yard as when we had our bees buzzing around. The yard is quieter this summer, with the exception of the lumbering, fuzzy black and yellow bumblebees, going about their work of pollinating and keeping life moving along for future summers.

Our house is quieter, too, with our faithful old cat gone from our lives. Bob put a headstone in the flower garden where he lies beneath our peach tree. As that tree grows I will know that Bugsy helped give life to future peaches in that side garden, in view from his favorite lounging window where he spent so many peaceful hours dreaming in the sun.

Life is easier. There are less chores. There is less commotion, less to worry about. But then there is less to love.

Meanwhile, I wait for more hellos. They have always arrived when I least expected them.

This coming week I have family from the Cities, books to sign and five days of a celebration honoring our veterans in our Veteran's Town. Life does go on.

Bursts of Beauty

We purchased our "town" house in Hot Springs a year after we lost our country home in the Alabaugh wildfire. It was in early September and the large lot, with several small gardens in the front and side, and a large one in the back yard, gave little indication of the flowers that lay dormant, waiting their turns to blossom the following spring. We could see the flowerless lilac and rose bushes, but we were clueless as to the rainbow of colors that awaited us.

In March the following spring the daffodils emerged and re-emerged through the snow, followed by a succession of flowers, one after another, with several blossoming simultaneously. Throughout May, June and July we were bombarded with a variety of blooms...purple, orange, red, yellow. They grew in the front and side yards, followed by the garden in the back. The roses bloomed in June, lasting through part of July. The yellow, then the pink and the white. The red in the back were barely holding their own when the tea roses outside the front window began to open. They crawled up the trellises and the wire fencing enclosure.

This year we had more spring rains than in the past five years. The roses have performed with the most showy display we have ever seen. As they were dwindling, our deep pink tea roses burst forth...so full that many, weighted down, hang over the fence. They are absolutely gorgeous. They take my breath away!

Each day Bob quietly places fresh flowers at our table. During each meal I enjoy the delicate samplings of  the beauty of the blossoms glowing outside.

For the past few weeks I spend more time than usual looking out of our front window. I try to immerse myself in the glory of the tea-rose spectacle. Each time I drive by our house I soak in their beauty, in an attempt to engrave their memory, knowing full well that they, too, in their time, will fade for the year, waiting for the rains and sun of next summer.

Counting the Days

Sometime during my lifetime I read or heard that "we should live for the moment. Yesterday is gone, never to change, and we don't know what the future will bring. All that we can control is the present".

All in all, not a bad outlook on life. I suppose it was meant to bring comfort and peace to those guilt-ridden over their past and to those anxious and worried about tomorrow. Again, much as those Pollyanna extremists, ideas that emerge to bring peace of mind sometimes bring unforeseen results.

For me, I cherish the loving memories, learn from my errors and try to adjust my present life. I have lived a life of challenges, errors, adventures, happiness, sorrows, learning and love. If I do not recall the joys and learn to accept the changes I have made in my beliefs, thoughts and decisions, then the past was for nothing. I have learned to embrace all of it and try not let it completely define who I have become.

As for living for the future....I remember early on waiting, waiting for the tomorrows. There were the weeks of anticipation before Christmas. I remember dreaming, plotting to plant seeds for my parents to sow in my packages under that beautiful, sweet-smelling evergreen, topped with the shining angel and covered with the painstakingly decorated silver tinsel. Those weeks of anticipation, pouring over the catalogs, standing longingly in front of the colorful store windows were not a waste. At times those days were sweeter than the actual day of opening and indulging, with the subsequent disappointments that sometimes followed. That, too, was a learning experience.

There were the days of counting...counting the days until vacation, counting until that trip, counting until a fresh start in a new job or school year, counting until an arrival. And then there were the times of waiting until a loss of a loved family member, friend or pet.

Waiting can be the hardest, I recently blogged, but it might also be a time of eager anticipation. Either way, counting the days can be...just might be....a time of growth and understanding. I sincerely hope that I continue on a path of learning until that time when I can no longer remember the past or wait for tomorrow.

P.S. Tom: it is fun to see you counting the days until your trip to the Hills and your eagerness to be a part of our celebration in Hot Springs, "Honoring Our Heroes".  For those of you who want more information on this event here from July 31 through August 4, visit www.legionriderspost71.com. This is an invite for your tomorrow. Y'all come. You won't be disappointed. See for yourself - we are truly the Veterans Town.

Eighteen Years of Love

We brought our old cat, Bugsy, home from the vets on the third. They called every day, several times, during his four days there, to update us on his condition. Finally they realized that there was nothing more they could do for him and we knew that the days ahead would be filled with pain. The decision seemed obvious to us. Perhaps it was obvious, but it is never easy. We have been through this many times before, but it never gets easier. As some wise person said to me as I was struggling with this, "It doesn't get easier because it is love."

Through my tears I am remembering how Bugsy came to us, an abandoned six-week old kitten, surviving on grasshoppers on our land south on Cascade Road. It was October and the bugs would soon come to an end. We were staying in our camper, one last time before the winter. We took him back to the Cities, knowing that in a year or two he would have to make the trip back with us to our retirement home in the Black Hills.

He never complained - through eight moves - including our flight from the flames during the Alabaugh Fire of 2007 - until we finally settled in this last home in 2008. We chose this house for him and our other cat. It had several great windows for sunning and watching birds and other critters. It had a sound basement for the litter boxes. We never considered buying a house that did not favor our cats.

He was good - never clawing furniture - careful to retract his claws when jumping on our laps. and always eager for food, never forgetting his early starvation years of abandonment in the woods.

It was only in the past few months that he began to howl many times during the day. It puzzled us, and annoyed us - especially early in the morning - but I remember my other cat yowling during his last few months of his elderly life. Perhaps there was an onset of some physical discomfort, or, I like to believe, that these treasured pets knew that they would be leaving us and wanted somehow to remind us not to forget them when they left.

How can you forget eighteen years of purring, rubbing, insisting on lap time and the sight of him licking his face and paws most carefully after each meal, curling up and lying in the sunshine of an eastern window? Then, during the day, somehow, when the sun was moving through its cycle, old Bugsy would follow the sunshine to the southern window, and finally, late in the day, I would find him curled up in my office in the sunshine of the window facing west.

We brought him home from the vets for his last two days, fed him all his favorite foods, gave him his painkillers and extensive lap time and had the vet put him down yesterday while he was curled up on my lap

Bob buried him over flowers and catnip in the garden closest to his favorite window where he would sit and watch the birds, squirrels and occasional cats, deer and wild turkeys that stopped at the bird bath or feeders. As we covered him with the garden earth I listened to the birds who had flown to safety overhead as we said our final goodbye to the cat who had given us so many years of furry comfort, trust and acceptance.

Today, as I do my household tasks, I look at his favorite spots, see him stretched out or curled in a ball, and I remember.

Waiting is the Hardest

Our eighteen-year old cat, Bugsy, is at the vets. We brought him in on Saturday. It turns out he has pancreatitis, an illness fairly common in older cats. The first two calls from the veterinarian were hopeful. We thought we would take him home on Sunday, but he took a turn for the worse. We visited him this morning and he is miserable. It hurts to see him hurt and we began to consider having him put down. He got kidney disease a couple of years ago, but has done well on the food and meds. Several weeks ago he developed a thyroid problem. It's tough growing older for many of us.

Meanwhile, we wait. We wait with hope that he will recover and spend some quality time back home with us. If not, we will say another goodbye, and after eighteen years it will not be easy. I try to prepare for the inevitable eventually....ever hopeful that it will be later than sooner, but no matter when, saying goodbye is never easy. And although another hello will be around the corner, it is that time in between that is the most difficult, and, that time is now.