It would seem that I have a VERY musical cat. Teeny enjoys what can only be described as Percussion instruments in the Oh dark thirty realm of night.Sometime between 3-5 AM she has taken up the art of the litter box scratch. Now during the day, she is very silent with this one, but in the wee hours of the morning, must be her performance time. Not the normal scratch and run is she. Oh, no. Teeny must scratch the walls as loudly as possible, making the sound echo not only in the box where she is but also in the bathroom. When shooed out of it, she waits, then comes back about a minute later. But, I have developed a way to alleviate this a bit. Each night she is no longer allowed in the bedroom. Her litter box is placed outside the room as well with a crate blocking my door so she can’t scratch it instead. Fortunately for me, she has not added the Climb and Scratch technique to her percussive talents.
Kitten Wars the Musical Edition 8/28/14
28 Aug 2014 Leave a comment
in journal, Kitten Wars, reflections Tags: Cats, humor, kittens, litter box, music, night, scratch
A Little Cat’s Music Kitten Wars at Peace time 8/23/14
23 Aug 2014 Leave a comment
in journal, Kitten Wars, reflections Tags: Cats, companionship, dogs, humor, kitten wars, love, Phantom of the Opera, relationships, singing, song, Webber
While writing “Songbird” I listened to “Phantom of the Opera” and other musicals that Andrew Lloyd Webber composed to get into the mood. While I frequently listen to all sorts of music, my cats usually ignore me and the computer. Until I put on Webber, overall, my computer was generally left alone, too. Little did I know that “Phantom” must be Teeny’s favorite music. I was singing along with “Think of Me” while I was composing the story on the keyboard when she leaped into my lap. Now most cat owners will think nothing of this, but keep in mind that Teeny is an affectionate in her own time kinda lady. She will talk to you, tell you she’s hungry, and knead on your shoulders on the couch, but getting into your lap is not her favorite thing. When she wants affection, she will call to you for you to come over to where ever she is poised ready for her scritch. SO for her to leap into my lap was very unusual.
Once in my lap, she started purring loudly, head bumping me, and kneading my legs as if she couldn’t decide which was the most important thing to do. At this point, I did a very silly thing. I STOPPED singing. Her head popped up. She put her face up to mine and took her paw to my lips where she proceeded to try to open them as if by that I would start singing once more. So, taking her clue, I started singing again. Once more the purring, the kneading, and the head bumping began. When the you tube vid was over, Teeny stared at the computer screen and very ladylike put her paw on the screen, then turned back to me with a look of “Make it happen! It can’t be over” So, I ran that video and sang for her that day. Can’t tell you how many times I sang just for my cat, but finally she dropped down off my lap. Supremely happy with herself, she walked over to Buddy, who was sleeping, and half-heartedly hissed at him telling him how stupid he was for sleeping while she and I had been communing.
Thoughts on “Songbird”
19 Aug 2014 Leave a comment
in journal, reflections Tags: blues, friends, hardship, jazz, music, ragtime, relationship, songbird
“Songbird” was written in part about an old friend from UGA as well as something that I used to do in the drama building. Back then the theatre people and the music people shared the same building. It was an old lady with beautiful granite/marble stairwells that echoed perfectly. I was extremely shy back then, but those stairwells called to me as nothing else did. Whenever I would have a lull between classes and knew that no one should be going up to the third floor, I would sing songs that filled my heart. As soon as I heard someone open one of the doors, I would scatter through the closest of the four doors to either the outside, basement, lobby, or third floor and make myself scarce. I tried assiduously to not get caught. In the five years I was there, I was only caught singing once by someone who had a feeling it was me. He literally timed me out of one of my classes just to verify that it was indeed me singing in the stairwell. It was then that I found out that he and several others had been listening to me sing for quite sometime. I was thoroughly embarrassed at being caught, but extremely thrilled that someone was listening considering that I was truly only singing because those stairwells begged for it.
The old friend that actually brought the story to mind was one who would play jazz and ragtime on the practice pianos. In my story, James is him in my mind, all grown up. My friend would play at all times of day and night changing pianos each time. He couldn’t help playing any more than I could stop singing. It was who we were at that time. He wore a brown trench coat, a long grey-tan scarf, and I believe a fedora, but it could have been another style of hat. He was always dressed as nicely as he could be. Despite the obvious quality of his clothes, they were threadbare and patched. He carried himself with a natural pride of knowing who he was, even when he was diligently watching for any night watchmen. It was several month before I ventured into the practice room where he was playing “Tea for Two” and introduced myself. Actually, I should say that he introduced himself, as I was too shy to say much of anything. I believe he knew I had been sitting close by listening for quite a while as he nodded at me like an old friend.
We sat saying nothing as he went through all sorts of ragtime, jazz, and blues. After a while, I sang softly to something he was playing, he grinned and from then on played things that I might know. It wasn’t until a good while later that I found out that my extremely talented friend had been living where ever he could for the last few years. He had put his degree on hold due to a family misfortune and was all alone in the world. As I was living in an all girl’s dorm, I had nothing to offer him other than a warm meal and friendship. He took the friendship, declining food, saying that I was a student, too and couldn’t afford it.
So, “Songbird” was made for that time, that place. It is a mix of what could have happened, could have been.
New Year, New Students, Fresh Start
01 Aug 2014 3 Comments
in journal, reflections Tags: art, bulletin board, expressionism, learning, moon, night, painting, reflections, starry night, stars, students, summer, teaching
Each school year I create a “mega” bulletin board that guides the theme for the year. I’ve done paper rainforests, waterfalls, and jungles. Sometimes I choose a science topic that the kids will be studying. The 2013-2014 school year found me doing Space Exploration. I’m guessing that I was quite the strange one at my latest school because people would drop by just to see how far along I was with that bulletin board. Once I finished it, I had a couple of teachers asking if I did murals for side money. I don’t. I make my murals just for the kids. If I did it for money, it would cease to be fun.
At the end of last year, when I was taking down my bulletin board, I was approached by a few colleagues who asked me what I planned on doing with my star burst bulletin board as I was rolling it up and putting it into the trash. They were dismayed that I had spent a few days painting it only to throw it away at the end of the year. I think one of them actually took it out of the trash and carted it away later, but I can’t prove that one. I only know that it developed legs of its own before the custodians came around to pick up the mounds of end of the year trash.
Of course, the follow-up question was, “Well if you’re throwing that one away, what do you plan on doing next year?”
Not giving it much thought, I said, “I think I’ll do something like ‘Starry Night'”. I know better than to answer questions off the cuff like that. It always sets me up for something later on!
At this point, I need to inform you that I have no formal art training. Matter of fact the last art class I took was in fifth grade which was back before Star Wars came out. So, I was being a bit facetious in my reply, to say the least. I do not consider myself an artist, but rather a dabbler. Well, my colleague took me at face value and was fairly excited that I was going to go for it.
I had all summer to think about it, forget about it, and come back around to it. For some reason, the idea just wouldn’t leave me alone. If I wasn’t thinking about that painting, I was hearing Don McLean in my head with his version. Something somewhere was trying to tell me to try it!
So, here’s a picture of the bulletin board that I made for the 2014-2015 school year. I used navy blue bulletin board paper and acrylic paint. I did not overhead project it. I even went so far as to intentionally leave elements out. This is my impression of the picture only, but boy did I have fun painting it over the last few days 🙂 I’ve had lots of people dropping by just to see where I was with it. I’ve had people sharing stories about when they first saw the original, when they went overseas to the various museums, or when they listened to …. Don McLean.
Crafting the Change: In Reply to Goddesses and Doormats #queenofallevil 7/30/14
30 Jul 2014 6 Comments
in journal, reflections Tags: #Goddesses and Doormats, #queenofallevil, divorce, dysfunction, dysfunctional relationship, empowerment, eradication, journal, marriage, reflection, relationship, sharing
Lately I’ve read a few pieces written by queenofallevil that are really hitting home. She writes about empowering yourself and refusing to belittle who you are to someone else needs or expectations. She talks about how to achieve self-realization in a very straight forward manner. While blunt and to the point, what she says needs to be heard, read, understood, and used by so many of us. When you come from any sort of dysfunctional relationship, whether it was how you grew up or was a romantic one, the first step is to be aware of what happened to make it dysfunctional and eradicate it.
Personally, I am one of those people that over-cares and over-does. In my first marriage, my husband-to-be actually told the priest that the reason he was marrying me was because I made everything work. I made it easy for him to live his life the way he wanted to. In essence I was his executive assistant to be, not his future wife.
Being a helpmate is not a bad thing, but when I took care of all of the details constantly for someone who, while admitting that I did so, continued to use me in this manner without trying to change what was going on, I lost track of who I was. He did not want me to work saying that the military was taking care of everything and would stop if I worked a true job, so I was allowed only a small job to cover extra expenses. Over time my sense of self-worth and id just dissolved into who my mate needed me to be. I lost my voice, not physically, but mentally and spiritually. I left my interests and hobbies behind so that I could help him achieve his goals. I buried myself in his needs and wants to the point that others didn’t even know if I could talk or express an opinion of my own.
The best thing I did during that relationship was to go back to school during which I fell into my profession. I started out as a voice major. It was something that I loved, but something that was costly in time. He didn’t mind that I sang and practiced all the time. It wasn’t until I changed my major to speech pathology that things truly got rough.
During my second year of classes, I started getting job applications constantly sent to me with salary quotes. After he picked one up and read that I was going to make more money than he did, well things started getting rough. No longer did he allow me time to study or do my projects. I had to squeeze in all the extras that a graduate student is required to do during the hours that he was not at home because once he got home, I was required to be available for him at all times.
It wasn’t until he left on a year-long duty overseas, that I realized that without him and his needs, I didn’t know what to do. I was finishing up my master’s degree at the time, about to intern, when I finally got angry enough to do something about it. I realized that I didn’t want to continue to follow him around anymore. I wanted my own career, managed by myself without his interference or even his input. I wanted out in a big way, which was my first indication that something was truly wrong. I was growing out of the doormat stage of that particular relationship, unfortunately I had not grown enough to recognize and stop the pattern.
My first dysfunctional marriage led into my second one in which I continued to be the care-giver, the organizer, the doer of the relationship, and in this case one more step … the provider. Focusing on what had to be done and how to do it, I made it to where my second husband didn’t believe that he needed a job at all. He simply stayed home, played on the computer, or played at creating items for his hobbies. Was it entirely my fault that he chose this venue? No, but I made it easier for him to do so. After all, why work for someone else making a little bit of money, when your spouse has made it so simple to just stay home and have fun. I won’t say that we could afford what he was doing, we truly couldn’t but that part never truly bothered him, only me as I began the spiral of exhaustion of mind, body, and spirit.
So, this cycle repeated itself, in a slightly different manner, but the result was the same.
My lesson is to become less available to everyone else’s needs around me. It is very hard to not be the person that has the supplies, has the answers, and knows how to fix or do whatever needs to be done. It is harder still to stop wanting to help everyone around me. As a natural care-giver, I need to work socially on what I do professionally … teach others, not do for them.
As a society, we use the word help in a very positive manner in which the person helping is supposed to be doing a good thing. We have created a generation of people who have been brainwashed into being the end-all and do-all of their families and relationships, but this is not necessarily a good thing. In response to the care-givers, we, as a society, have also created a generation of users; people who think nothing of running their helpers, the ones who love and care for them, into the ground from all of their demands both necessary and unnecessary.
So, in reply to what queenofallevil is writing about, I believe that the answers lie both within and without. People need to recognize their dysfunction and work to alleviate it, but the change is not just for individuals. We, as a society, need to acknowledge the dichotomy and work towards crafting the change.

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