An Adventure I Could Live Without

Or maybe I'll live better because of it...


Here I sit in a hospital room with my husband, waiting to see what the doctor has to say.  Not a fun way to spend a Monday.  Dear Husband evidently has high blood sugar in addition to a slight atrial flutter in his heart.  Lord only knows what else they will find while they're at it.

Guess both of us are in for a change in diet, and he's going to have to start exercising again at some point. Personally, I think if he can just lose the weight that he needs to lose, a lot of his other problems will go away, or at least improve greatly.  I have been struggling with trying to eat better and exercise more for the sake of maintaining my own health.

I am now home from the second day of sitting in a hospital room with my somewhat bored and resigned husband.  He has accepted that the lifestyle changes we've been saying we OUGHT to make, are now MANDATORY.  He is looking at this as a challenge to his considerable culinary skills. He is going to set out to develop diabetic and heart health friendly versions of some of our favorite foods.  He is also going to be exploring new foods and new ways to prepare foods that will let us eat well within the restrictions he faces.  (He has also demanded that I go and get all my numbers checked again, since it has been awhile.)

I know that I eat too many sweets, I also know that I could stand to lose about 20 pounds, but 35 would be even better.  (That would put me back where I was in my 20s.)  The real challenge for him is going to be exercise that he can safely do.  Me, I walk about a mile and 3/4 every day.  I also do free weights from time to time, and yoga once in a while.  Guess I'll have to step it up. 

Guess I should re-set my goals in my Lose It! app, and get busy.  Already started today eating better and logging my food and exercise again.  I have already lost four pounds from the last time I logged my weight. 

At least this hospital we are dealing with is close to home, and is full of nice staff.  Most of them are also very helpful and will answer what questions they can.  We have a friend who works in another part of the hospital, which is nice, because we get to see her if she has a chance to stop up and say hi.  Her daughter also works for the hospital, and she was up to see us also.  One of the priests from the church stopped in today as well.  Canon Susan was a stalwart support during our previous bout with a hospital when Matt had to have surgery on his spinal column.  I realize now we've known her for about 18 years, ever since we got more involved at St. Paul's.  Our church family was very supportive during that time, and I am sure they will be this time also. The fact that we will be developing healthier recipes will mean everyone at the cathedral will get healthier "After the 11" snacks when it's our turn from now on.  Probably a very good thing.

Well, this is enough disjointed and tired ramblings from me.  Time to crash and get up tomorrow and do it all again. 

A Very Miscellaneous Saturday

 I got up this morning and changed the linens on the bed, and took my walk, and came back and started the rest of the laundry.  Then I embarked on an all day adventure.  I cleaned out the closet in my office.  The sticker pictured above is on the top drawer of my filing cabinet.  It is the only one I know for sure survives from the days before Matt left our home in Germany for the Gulf War.  He put them all over the place, in hidden places, and in plain sight.  What a mushy guy he was back then.

 The picture to the left shows some of the excess I had to remove from the office closet in order to begin the reorganization.  This is a pretty small closet.  It is truly amazing how much stuff I have crammed in there. 
The next picture shows yet more of the stuff that came out of the closet.  The chair is ordinarily at the desk, of course, it is just full of stuff from the closet.  The cleaning caddy on the desk does not live in the closet, either.  It lives in the laundry room.  Its presence was necessary in the office today, however. 

Here is the closet, still packed full, but no longer jumbled. You cannot see the overhead shelves full of Christmas decorations, or the file cabinet side of the closet that is also home to a very large carpet cleaning machine.  At least now I have some hope of finding what I go in search of in the closet. 

I also did a thorough cleaning of the office today.  My keyboard and the computer screen are both nice and clean now.  Even waxed the desk.  All of this whilst running to the laundry room to shift loads of clothes around and fold and hang and put away as needed.  How can two people produce five loads of laundry every week?  It is astounding.  At least we have water saving washer that is also Energy Star compliant.  Dryer is as energy efficient as we can make it.  Wouldn't like to try drying my clothes outdoors here in Oklahoma.  Awful lot of dust and dirt in the air around here on a regular basis.

Finally got the husband to buy new clothes.  Like pulling teeth.  Worse than shopping with a teenager, I am willing to bet.  He now looks like my husband again instead of some old bum.  (God, sometimes I miss the Air Force.  They made him exercise, they made him dress neatly, and they were the ones grumbled about, not me.)  I bought some more things yesterday, now that I know what size to buy for certain.  Got myself a few new things, too.  Also culled out the clothes closet and bureau, and have a large donation waiting for a local veterans group.  Thing that made me feel good, besides donating the clothes, is that I got the things I bought yesterday at a really good sale price.  I got a pair of really nice skinny jeans for $4.  Ya can't beat that!  They will mainly be worn around here because I consider myself a trifle long in the tooth for skinny jeans, but these do look pretty good, if I do say so... (Sorry , no photo.  I can't make pictures of myself that look anything like decent.  Husband doesn't like making my picture unless it is his idea, so I won't even ask.)

The recital I was supposed to sing in on Sunday has been cancelled.  Karen, my teacher is ill.  It is always scary when she gets sick, she has diabetes, and complications are always a possibility.  She has taught me so much, but I still have so much to learn!  She has to get better!  I hope Adria and I get to sing our duet together sometime.  It is SO pretty, and our voices blend so well.  Karen knew they would.  The aria I was going to sing solo is a really complicated business.  I am kind of relieved not to have to sing it just now.  It's fun, but I still trip over some of the words. 

My husband did not go to judge at the barbecue competition today.  They had a sign up problem so he wasn't needed after all.  He wasn't feeling well anyway, so I have had him underfoot all day, but he has just been parked on the couch most of the day.  If he doesn't feel a lot better soon, I will haul him to the clinic whether he wants to go or not.

Well, this disjointed and admittedly miscellaneous post is about to end.  I have one last load of laundry to deal with, chicken to get into the oven, and then I think I am going to crash for awhile with my Nook and some good music.  (Been listening to Rod Stewart's Great American Songbook albums lately.  Beautiful music, and he does rather well with it, surprisingly so when you consider how he has mistreated his voice over the years.  Most rock singers do mistreat their voices.  Some can learn better habits, some can't.  Sounds like Mr. Stewart learned  some better habits.)

So, off I go to relax, I hope. 

My Stories of the April 19, 1995 Bombing in Oklahoma City

Here are three essays I wrote after the bombing.  There are some poems to post with these as well.  This work says how this act of terror affected me, and the community around me.  I hope they bring understanding to any who wish to know more about the chaos and the deep feelings of that time eighteen years ago today.  More may be learned about the experiences of Oklahomans that day by searching on social media for the hashtag #foreverchanged.

A Place Of Perfect Peace
By
Carolyn Kay Armistead -- 1996

As we drive into the downtown area, I can still see damaged buildings - scars from the bombing. As we leave the car in the south parking lot, and walk toward the golden limestone of the Cathedral, I am jarred once again by the still-boarded up windows in the front of the Cathedral itself. By the time we are all the way across Seventh Street, and entering the wrought-iron gates of the cloister, my mind has already recovered. Instead of dwelling on the damage, I am already thinking of the service ahead, what we will be singing, whether it will be too warm to leave my blouse on under the cassock of my choir vestment.

Across the bricked surface of the cloister, dark and cool with trees even in the summer, we pass the Lenten cross, the same cross that was propped against that tree when the bomb hit last year. Now we head up the steps to the door of the Parish House. This old, varnished wood door has never been the easiest to open, but since the bombing it is even more reluctant to move, and creaks its protest in loud metallic groans. Now up the old, creaking and popping stairs to the choir room, and into the safe territory of music folders and hymnals and vaguely mothball scented choir vestments. Here we don our robes and find our service bulletins and wait for the rest of the choir to assemble.

When we gather to rehearse our anthem one last time before the service, we share many warm greetings, and small jokes. We are family, and we are making the best of things. Our service is not to be held in the beautiful old Cathedral, with its jewel-like Tiffany windows, glowing white marble high altar, and wonderful old- church smell compounded of beeswax, incense, leather, and distilled prayer. No, our service must be held in the dun brown school cafeteria /auditorium atmosphere of Dean Willey Hall, in the education building next to the Parish House.

Our Cathedral, you see, is only two blocks north of where the Murrah Federal Building used to be. When that blast hit, it tore at Oklahoma's heart in many ways, not the least of which were the many downtown churches damaged by that blast. Our Cathedral is one of them. The roof was lifted and then unceremoniously dumped back on walls unprepared for such strain. It still stands, but faces extensive reinforcement and repair. For now, our solemn, beautiful, peaceful place of prayer is full of scaffolding. A big thick plastic sheet covers the whole chancel-sanctuary area from floor to ceiling. The great marble altar still seems to glow at you through the gloom of dust and plastic. The two Tiffany windows still shine out through the gloom with defiant brightness.

For all the scaffolding, and the plastic, I can still close my eyes, and smelling that wonderful essence of old church, I can feel the same peace and love surround me there that I felt the very first time I prayed in that Cathedral three years ago. My husband and I were newly transferred here to Oklahoma City, after a four year tour in Germany. We were homesick for old friends, and heartsick because my mother was ill. St. Paul's Cathedral was the second Episcopal church we "sampled" in our search for a "home church." St. Paul's welcomed us with open, loving arms. Not just the people of St. Paul's, but that old Cathedral itself seemed to reach out to enclose me in its comforting embrace.

As time went on, we got more comfortable in Oklahoma City, and other interests interfered with our regular attendance at church. We drifted away from that peaceful place. Then, on April 19, 1995, a bomb blast changed our lives, and the lives of all Oklahomans, forever. As I worked my way through anger and shock and disbelief at what had happened to those people, and especially the children, I began to remember that the Cathedral was near there. As soon as I realized how close the blast was to St. Paul's, I began scanning the news pictures for a sight of the church. There it was! Still standing! The old golden limestone was still glowing in the mid-morning sun, but things were wrong. The Celtic cross on the south peak of the Cathedral roof was missing an arm, and the stained glass windows in the Narthex were gone. I began to worry and to pray for the secretaries, the bookstore ladies, and the clergy that I knew might have been there working when the bomb hit. I was very angry that the one place I most wanted to go to seek peace and reassurance might be lost to me forever.

My husband was one of the military volunteers who worked at the bomb site. He told me that many times, after coming out of that building disgusted and depressed, he would hear the clock chimes from one of the nearby churches and think of St. Paul's. He would look up, and gather strength from the sight of that brave, one-armed cross on the peak of the Cathedral roof. He, too, wanted to go back and try to repay the love that St. Paul's had shown us from the very beginning. We needed the Cathedral, and they needed us.

The very first day that we could, we went to the Cathedral to offer our help. We were welcomed back with great affection, as though we had never been away at all. This time, we stayed, and found work for ourselves to do in the gardens, on the host committee, and in the choir. Matt also used his computer knowledge to help publicize the Capital Funds Drive to raise money needed for restoration expenses not covered by insurance. We are home to stay.

The Cathedral lost no staff to the bombing, nor did we lose any parishioners, but a couple of parishioners were injured, as they worked in the Journal Record Building across from the bombing site. It has been almost a year since the bombing, and here we are, just beginning to rebuild our buildings. Our congregation however, is strong and close-knit. We have been rebuilding each other with love and caring all this past year. This choir that I rejoice in singing with has helped me feel that I am making a contribution toward that healing. It has also helped to heal me. I was in the choir at the church I grew up in, and I had missed that unique family feeling that comes when one is part of a choir. Music does more than soothe us; it unites us in worship. As we sing throughout the service, I feel that sense of love and peace from the Cathedral itself has followed us here. We are family. We have love: each other's and God's. Nothing will ever change that.

Suffused with this love of God and each other, and with hope for the future, we leave our worship, and the fellowship of our Cathedral family, and head back out into the city again. This time I see all the new windows and other improvements that have come about since the bombing, and I know soon enough our old Cathedral's buildings will be whole again as well.



Looking to Reclaim Peace
By Carolyn Kay Armistead
April 16, 1997

As we get closer to the day we will worship again in our restored Cathedral, I find a sense of restless expectation building, mixed with some nervous fear. It is wonderful to look forward to having our worship space back, but the reason we lost use of it in the first place is still painful.

Yet, in spite of this I feel the excitement is building, more than at Christmas or Easter. The anticipation is nearly unbearable. We will see the inside of our refurbished Cathedral on Saturday for a rehearsal, but it seems a lifetime away still.

That old Cathedral, so welcoming, familiar, and safe is made new, unfamiliar, perhaps a little bit treacherous. My mind doesn't have all the details of the layout, the sounds, smells, feeling of this place in storage like it did for the old space. Things will surprise me, perhaps some smells from varnish or new carpet may offend my nose, the acoustics may produce an unfamiliar resonance.

We will go in on Sunday to worship, to sanctify this space anew with the perfume of our prayers and songs, to add incense and candle wax back to the aura of the place. We will also go to rejoice in a reunion with an old and dearly loved friend, and as with a human friend, we will look for the familiar features among the changes wrought by time and separation. We hope to see that same warm and comforting countenance among the new finery.

Will that refurbished space still resonate with nearly a century's worth of prayer and worship? Will the newly cleaned and restored stained glass windows still give a mellow and diffuse light? Will our new contributions of incense and candle wax overcome the smell of varnish to bring out the old "odor of sanctity?" Will I know my place? Will I do the right thing at the right time and so not distract myself or others from the reason we are there? Will I be able to sing through my tears?

For I will cry, I know that. I cry when I think on it, the lovely place of comfort I longed for two years ago, so abruptly taken from me. I will cry again because of the children, all the little ones lost, and their parents, that I wanted to go and pray for on that day.

Though I do feel some trepidation, I know in my heart that the same comfort, the same peace will be available there that were there in the past. The same Lord is worshipped and adored in that place, and as the peace given by that Cathedral is His peace, it will be the same. For all the changes we must endure, this truth we do hold fast; Christ is steadfast, His love never changes.

And so, in my mixture of emotions about coming back into the Cathedral itself, I find joy working its way to the surface. Which is as it should be. Out of our great sorrow, God has heard our cries and prayers, and our songs of praise sung in spite of our loss. Now is the time to celebrate answered prayer, to enter into His gates with thanksgiving and into His courts with praise. With songs of thankful rejoicing, let us go.



A Place of Peace and Joy
By
Carolyn Kay Armistead -- April 20, 1997

As we drive into the downtown area again, I can see new glass in most windows, few buildings are boarded up anymore. There are signs of new life everywhere. The sky is a brilliant blue, and the sun warms us as we leave our car in the parking lot. We stop at the curb to look up at the Cathedral again, and our weary, longing eyes are met with a joyful sight.

No more boarded up windows in the narthex, no more construction fence, no more "hazardous area" tape across the doors. Instead, the beautiful new doors to our Cathedral stand open, welcoming everyone back inside. We cross the street, but head into the cloister and from there to the education building and up to musty old Dean Willey Hall for a choir rehearsal, and to put on our vestments.

There is a real sense of anticipation here today as we prepare for our first service in the renewed Cathedral. Oh, the nine o'clock service has already taken place, but for those of us who come to the 11 o'clock service, this is the first time. We are all lamenting how warm it is going to be in the loft because the air conditioning has yet to be installed. Everyone is dressed for summer weather and some delay putting their vestments on until after rehearsal.

I am still afraid that I will trip, or go the wrong way, or do something else foolish during the processional or at Communion. No, I tell myself, it will be all right. After all, we've spent the last two years dodging all kinds of obstacles in Dean Willey Hall with dignity, if not grace. I'll manage.

Yesterday we sang in the Cathedral for the first time, and it is glorious! The acoustics are wonderful. We don't have to strive so hard to be heard. Our loft is beautiful, and we can see the whole of the chancel and sanctuary area, and most of the nave from up there.

That lovely Cathedral is definitely still a place of beauty, but yesterday there were too many things going on at once to be very peaceful. We were rehearsing, the acolytes were practicing, people were coming in to see the new space, it was quite an uproar. Yet, that old Cathedral seemed to be laughing with delight, both at its new finery, and at seeing all of us again. If buildings can smile, St. Paul's Cathedral was grinning from ear to ear yesterday during that rehearsal time.

Today, on Sunday, despite some confusion before the processional, we will have a wondrous and inspiring service. As we enter the Cathedral in procession, I am struck again by the majesty of this restored space. The sanctuary walls, which used to be a coral color, are now a rich, textured red, against which the white marble of the high altar really shines. The two Tiffany windows on either side of the high altar are sparkling like jewels in the morning sunlight. As I turn to go up the side aisle on my way back to our choir stairs, I notice all the beautiful stained glass windows down the side of the Cathedral. They are all newly cleaned and restored. They too seem to glimmer in the light. I also note, as I go out the door to the narthex, that the smell of varnish is very faint, and that candle wax and incense, and some of that old "odor of sanctity" are indeed making inroads in the restored Cathedral's atmosphere.

I scramble through the narthex, still unfinished, and up the as yet uncarpeted stairs to our loft. I stop, breathless, in front of my seat on the west side- front row, right next to the organ console. I struggle to catch my breath and find my place in my music. (I find that I cannot sing and climb stairs at the same time.)

As we get into the sermon portion of the service, I find myself awestruck again at the glorious appearance of our Cathedral. The vaulted ceiling of the chancel is now flanked by the vaults above the two small side chapels. Then I look around at the loft I am sitting in, and realize that one set of dormers, with their stained glass windows, are there where we are now level with them.

Also, I see many comfortingly familiar things. I look down on the congregation, and there is Mrs. Long in her usual place, with Mary Kathryn sitting next to her, where we used to always sit in the row behind them before we joined the choir. It is so good to see them back in their usual place. To be able to see the Dean when he preaches a very moving sermon, to be able once again to kneel at the high altar to receive Communion, to hear so many familiar voices around about me lifted in praise to God, all of that brings my spirit home. Home to that same peaceful and comforting space the Cathedral has always been for me. All through the service my spirits soared, this is my beloved, longed for Cathedral, and it is better than it was.

I have my chance to say a prayer for those who were lost two years ago, but for a wonder, I do not cry. So comforting and familiar is that place, my longed for place, that I do not need to cry. Once again, that old Cathedral seems to reach out to me in my place of sorrow, and gather me in its arms and give me the peace I have been searching for. It also fills my heart with joy. Joy in finding a dear old friend alive and well after a long separation.

I have found my place, and not only did I know my place, but my place knew me, and it seemed glad that I was there. Yes, our place of love and solace is restored to us, and our congregation has breathed a well - deserved sigh of relief.

There are many things to delight in about our restored Cathedral, but the best thing is something we've had all along: each other. If not for the love and strength in this congregation, we would have no church at all. If not for the strength and leadership of our Dean, this restoration would never have been possible.

This day's celebrations were not just to delight in being in our beloved Cathedral again, but also to thank God for the love He gave to us. Love for God, and love for one another. The joy which we have shared this day will be with us through many difficult times ahead, as we finish restoring the whole Cathedral campus. It will sustain us, and so will that love that God has put into our hearts.

Adam's Angel
(A meditation during the organ recital, Nov. 17, 1998)
By Carolyn Kay Armistead

To the rest of us
She is nothing but colored glass
An adornment
But she speaks to Adam;
Or maybe only he will hear her.

Adam isn't always clean
In his Army coat of scruffy green
But he is always serene
As he goes on his way
Beaming.
Doing the Angel's bidding.

"He talks to himself."
One will say.
"He's insane."
Says another.
I don't care.
He talks to angels
And the church wouldn't feel right
Without Adam
Besides,
Isn't he our brother?

Adam, in the old coat,
Who talks to stained glass angels,
And sees a truth we don't.





A Cathedral Christmas
By Carolyn Kay Armistead
1998

Here we are again:
The faithful and the now and then,
Assembled once more with great joy
To welcome a special baby boy.

This time our Cathedral is restored
To give homage to the One adored;
Our family home again made new,
Through with the years of "making do."

A delight to all the senses it becomes,
With new organ to support our songs,
And finery restored to its original glory,
The better to illustrate the Gospel story.

So round His table again we gather,
Banished is the world and all its bother,
For we are family, loved and treasured;
A gift with value too great to be measured.

As into the cold, crisp night we go,
Our hearts remain with love aglow.
Each face we have seen, each voice is precious,
For in each is God's love for us reflected.





Christmas Eve
By Carolyn Kay Armistead, 1996

The scent of pine needles, incense, and candlewax fill the air.
There is much confusion about the processional, and just who goes where.
But the night is full of magic, wonder and joy
As our Christian family prepares once again to welcome the baby boy.

The baby boy who came into a world of uncertainty and pain,
Who understands how we feel, being in Dean Willey Hall again,
And not in our beautiful Cathedral, with its comfort and sacredness.
He knows how it feels to deal with hatred's harmful effects.

Well He knows our sorrow, our impatience and our pain
And yet He makes us glad to be together, even if in the Hall again.
For He was not born in a fancy palace, or a hospital clean and grand;
But in a lowly stable, with cows, sheep and shepherds close to hand.

If He could be content with a birthplace so quiet and humble;
Who are we to be unhappy with our lot and to grumble?
After all, we are safe and still together, and together we still can sing
The same joyful song of angels, and isn't that the most important thing?

Remembering An April Morning

Every year for the last 18 years, this day brings a unique pain.  That first day, such shock, disbelief, anger, grief.  The first anniversary, still sadness, the beginnings of rebuilding, hope.
By this time, the grief is old, there are scars where the wounds were.  Most of the scars have even faded.  Still, it hurts.  There are tears.  There are memories, both poignant  and repellent of that day.

It was a beautiful morning in mid-April.  One of the rare Oklahoma spring days with bright sun and a sky so blue it almost hurts to look at.  A light breeze, not the usual howling wind.  Then, a horrible noise.  I was 10 miles away, at our home in Moore, I did not hear it.  My husband called, and told me to turn on the TV.  I could not believe what I saw.  Smoke, fire, confusion in downtown Oklahoma City.  Right near our church.  I watched and listened, and prayed, hoping everyone I knew was OK.

Nobody knew what had happened at first.  Gradually, it became known that there had been some kind of bomb in a truck parked in front of the building.  McVeigh was caught purely by accident.  He had been pulled over for not having a license tag, and he was arrested for having an illegal handgun in the vehicle. Putting all this together happened over the course of a couple of days.  People wanting answers today about what happened in Boston are going to have to be patient.  There are no instant answers, but the truth has a way of pushing its way to the surface eventually.

My husband spent a few 12 hour days at the site of the blast, helping with the Air Force's contribution to the volunteer effort.  They assisted with rubble removal and any recovery as necessary.  The night they were set to bring out the remains of the Marine from the recruiting office, every volunteer that had been there that day stayed late so they could be part of a cordon of honor for that Marine.  Matt said he had never known that place to be as quiet as it was when they brought that Marine out.

When things settled down a bit, we went back to our church and became more involved than we were before.  When you almost lose something or someone, you find out how important it really is.  We have been there almost every Sunday (and Wednesday night) since.  We are in the cathedral choir, and we coordinate the "Fellowship after the 11" group that provides goodies to eat so folks will stay and chat awhile after the service.

In the aftermath of that destructive act of hate, an outpouring of love flooded over this city that was truly unbelievable.  People were angry, yes, but they were more interested in helping those left behind who had to deal with this mess than they were in revenge.  We were all profoundly sad, but there was a sweetness to offset it. The overwhelming sweetness of love.  There is a video I would like to share with this post.  It was made 3 days after the bombing by a local newscaster who is also a musician.  The song still makes me cry.  I have friends who cannot watch it at all.  The words are very good, too. 

May Boston know the healing and the love that we have known.  May this be solved quickly and justice found.  Just know that finding justice does not bring back the ones lost.  We are still missing 168 pieces of the heart of Oklahoma.  Some of them were just babies.

Here is a link to Broken Heartland by Devin Scillian.  Broken Heartland by Devin Scillian

For Madame Skye

This is a picture of Madame on the back of the settee in my office.  Made a few years ago.

As I write this, our Madame Skye cat is still with us, but barely.  She is sleeping on the settee in my office, a favorite spot of hers, but her breathing is labored.  She won't be with us much longer, I know, even if we make it to the vet tomorrow and he is able to do something for her.  We have seen the x-rays.  There is cancer everywhere inside this poor kitty.  Yet, until very recently, she has had a pretty normal quality of life for an eleven year old cat with cancer.  As recently as last evening, she was chasing a string and following us around as we did things.  She got in my face as I was settling in to watch Doctor Who.  This morning, she was having trouble breathing, but we heard no congestion.  Still no congestion, just hard for her to breathe.  (Something inside in the way, I suspect.) 

This kitty is one who chose us.  We went to a PetSmart adoption event, and asked if they had any short-haired cats.  Madame was the only one left.  They had named her Skye, and as her coloring reminded me of the rock of the isles, I decided the name Skye could be kept.  Her attitude and bearing made us call her "Madame", however.  They told us she was "kinda standoffish."  As soon as Matt reached toward the cage when the girl opened the door, Skye got up, walked right into Matt's arms, reached for me, looked up at the girl and meowed, as if to say :  "Write up my release papers.  My staff has FINALLY showed up to bail me out." 
Skye is the cat who cannot resist a piece of string.  She must chase it, try to take it somewhere, hide it for later.  She loves her toy mice, plays with them excitedly, has tried to "drown" them in her water bowl. 

Madame loves Mozart.  She always listens to my voice practice, coming from wherever she has settled into the dining room to supervise.  Mozart is her favorite.  She loves "Deh viene non tardar, o gioja bella!" (from Nozze di Figaro) that it is what I must use to call her.  She will NOT come unless I sing that aria.  If Matt wants to call her, he has to flip the drawer pull on his desk drawer where he keeps the string. 

This cat will be SO missed.  She is the Regulator of the Household Daily Liturgy.  She it is who tells us when we should get up, when we should (she thinks, anyway) go to bed, when she should be fed, when we should go to work.  There have been rituals involved in all these things.  She MUST help me make the bed every morning, even if lately, that has been a very half-hearted attempt to grab the blanket when I spread it back on the bed to tuck it back in.  Every night for a long time, she had to have ice cubes put in her water dish.  I don't know why.  I get ice for my tumbler of water every night, and she started loudly demanding that she get some too.  This has stopped since she has been ill, but for awhile, it was part of the nightly ritual.  She always had to sit at the foot of the bed and watch Matt put on his lip balm before he retires for the night.  She also demands to be brushed if either of us gets out a hairbrush.  She hides from the doorbell, but if our friends the Rogerses come over, she demands that Michael sit down on the couch so she can trap his arm and go to sleep.  She is in heaven when Nancy also sits on the couch.  She traps them both.

I know we will soon be seeing her off to wait at the Rainbow Bridge with Taz and Dougal, and of course, Bear (HER dog).  I don't want to let her go, but if she is ready, I will send her off to keep Mr. Bear company until we get there.  He grumped at her a lot, but he let her sleep with him if she behaved. (She tried to bite him, which he did NOT appreciate.) 
Here are some pictures of Skye trapping Mike and Nancy:

And here is a picture of her snoozing on my settee today:

I will add more when we know more. 
We have just returned from a rushed trip to the emergency vet.  Madame Skye passed away on the way up there.  She had severe problems breathing, and was vomiting, so we rushed her up there, but it was already too late.  We knew she would go soon.  I miss her already.  My Opera Cat.


Here is a picture of her just last night, she climbed up on me to watch Doctor Who with me.

Sorry.  Crying too much to type any more.

What Scares Us

Many things are common fears among humans.  The dark, being alone, spiders, heights, enclosed places, all these are pretty common phobias.  We are also afraid of dying.  We don't think about it much, at least not usually when we are younger, but we don't really like the idea.  When we are young, it is inconceivable that anything could cause our existence to cease. We are vibrant, full of life, invincible.  Or so we believe.  The older we get, the more experiences we have of loss, or our own illness or injury, and Death becomes more real.  When we lose a loved one or even an acquaintance near our own age, no matter how old we are, Death becomes more real.

Death was a very real presence to all ages of people in the past.  Medicine was not so advanced, people were not so well-nourished, life was in general more dangerous, and more people died at younger ages.  Even in my generation, Death was a real presence during my late childhood and early adolescence.  There was a war going on in Viet Nam, and it consumed the lives of many men and some women the same age as my siblings.  Both my brothers had friends go off to serve.  Both knew some who did not come home.  They were both in engineering programs at UCLA, and because their grades were good enough, they had deferments.  (They were both also nearly blind without their glasses, as am I.  Only my sister has good distance vision.)  Every night on the news, we heard counts of wounded, dead, and missing.  Every night.  They don't do that with the wars today, but even though we have lost far too many, and had too many injured, the sheer number of injured and dead over the course of Viet Nam is staggering.  It still seems shocking to me that I thought of those counts as a normal part of a newscast when I was growing up.

There are a few things I fear.  I don't really fear confined spaces (like elevators), but I am very uncomfortable in them.  I have a lot of respect for fire, but I don't really fear it.  I have learned not to fear the dark, (unless I am alone on an unfamiliar street, or in a place like my old neighborhood in California.)  I dislike climbing on ladders because my uncle and my Pop both died after falling off ladders.   Right this minute, I am afraid to try to lie down and go to sleep.  I woke up choking last night, and for a few seconds, until I got whatever had gone the wrong way cleared, I was afraid I was going to die.  I could not get enough air in.  I am afraid it will happen again, and this time I won't be able to get the gunk out of my throat.  This has never happened before.

All day this has been perking along in the back of my mind.  I have distracted myself most of the day with things that needed doing and with reading and fooling around on the Internet, and haven't let it come to the forefront of my thoughts.  But now, bedtime looms, and I need my sleep because I have to work all day tomorrow.

My faith tells me I don't have to fear what will happen to me when I die, but I still don't want to go yet.  I have too many things undone.  There are too many messes in this house that I don't want other people to have to try and sort out.  Especially my husband.  I don't want to leave him. I really don't want to leave him all these things that need to be sorted and dealt with.  I told him we had better go together, because I don't want to go alone, or go on alone without him.  He just says we have to do what we have to do, and it isn't our decision anyway.  He's right.  (He's usually right, but don't tell him I said that. )
There are things I have not done, places I want to go that I have not gone, people I care about that I don't want to leave behind because they just might need me.  There are SO many more songs to sing, and poems to write, and books to read.  There are movies I want to see that are not out yet!  I want to see the rest of They Live Among Us!  But mostly, there are people I care for who may not know it, and I have to do a better job of letting them know.  Not telling them.  Showing them.  It isn't easy.  Actions speak louder than words because words of support are easy to offer.  Acts of support and concern are harder to accomplish.

I may have been flippant and frivolous today online, but it was only to cover the darker things clamoring around in my subconscious.  Thoughts of how much time I have wasted, how many I have hurt, those are the things that have truly been on my mind today.  Yet I still spent most of the day in avoidance behavior.  Of course, I had to wait on the plumber, and wait for him to finish his work before my time was really my own today.  Then, there was the generally run down feeling (now getting even worse) because I could not sleep for more than about an hour and a half last night.

Well, I can't avoid this particular fear much longer.  I shall set up the coffee pot so I can take a thermal carafe of good coffee to work tomorrow.  (I share, of course.)  I'll take the guaifenesin and the antihistamine and anti inflammatory,  brush my teeth, wash my face, etc.  Then I'll try to go to sleep.  Wish me luck.

Here is a picture of the new kitchen sink that I was waiting on the plumber to install, by the way.

Regarding Yesterday's Post - Oh, No! I Forgot Somebody!!

I can't believe that I forgot to mention a most important veteran in my life.  Perhaps because I think of him as a pastor first, and then a military officer?  His name is Rich Rosenfeld, and he was our chaplain at Rhein-Main Air Base.  He and his wife Stephanie became our friends, and are still counted as such.  They got us hooked on 'Allo, 'Allo  which is an old British sitcom.  They and their son David are also Star Trek fans, and the certificate we were given when we left Rhein-Main reflects this. 

All of our involvement at the chapel was due to Rich's encouragement, and recognition that we had talents to share.  We attended the 08:30 Protestant Liturgical Service.  It was also known as the MethoLuthEpiscoTerian Rite.  It had occasion to be known as the Ops Group Chapel Service, because for a long while, you could find the Wing Commander, the Wing DO, the Commander of Civil Engineering, the commander of Current Ops, and my husband,of course, all of whom were part of the Ops group.  (Matt was NCOIC of Current Operations at that time).  This was also the chapel service most likely to be interrupted by someone's radio.  (No cell phones at that time, at least not at that wing.)

Rich and Steph and David are good friends, and I am still trying to pay forward all the good things they shared with us.  Rich is an exceptionally caring person, which makes him an excellent chaplain.  He is retired from the Air Force now, but he still works as a chaplain and helps many of his fellow vets in times of crisis.  I can think of few others I'd like to have around if I had to face a difficult situation.  Rich is a good one to have in your corner. 

Still can't believe I forgot to add Rich to the list yesterday.  Hope I didn't forget anyone else...

Veterans I Know and Have Known

So much heard lately about the really rotten treatment many veterans receive in our country.  Made me think about all the veterans I know.
The first veteran I ever knew was my Pop.  He was in the infantry in WWII.  He spent two years slogging around the Pacific.  He never wanted to talk about it much.  He admitted to me once that he had to kill a man with a knife once.  It bothered him a lot.  Never mind that this was war, and the guy he killed had already killed a lot of our guys.  Taking a life that way takes something out of you, wounds you.  It certainly stayed with Pop, though it didn't surface often.  He only told me about it one evening shortly before my wedding, when he was talking to me about what it meant to be married to a military man.  He wanted me to understand that there might be things Matt would never feel able to share with me.
Even so, Pop was proud of his service, and he did enjoy a few benefits of being a veteran.  He got a low interest mortgage, and the house I spent the first part of my life in was built with that money. We had to move when I was 14.  The neighborhood was no longer a safe place.  (Compton, CA.  Need I say more?)
Other vets I have known include a neighbor we met when we first moved here.  Don was a B-17 pilot in WWII.  He said he landed more than one time in an aircraft that shouldn't have still been flying.  He later became an officer in the Air Force and after retiring from the Air Force, he worked as a mail carrier for many years.  He was a good neighbor, and I was very proud to know someone who was able to bring all of his crews home in more or less one piece.  That Air War in Europe was very costly to us in terms of bomber crews.  He died several years ago, and I still miss him.  He used to come in the library all the time and take the free computer courses we offer.  He was so proud of me for getting a job there.  He was one of my references.

Many of my coworkers are veterans.  Julie, she who is our branch's corporate memory, (I call her Julie All-Knowing and All-Wise)  was in both the Air Force and the Navy.  She is the wife of a retired Navy man.  (So in her, I get to claim two vets that I know, herself and Ralph.)  Julie is very conscientious about her job, she is a loyal friend, and one of the funniest people I know.  She and Anne and I can not be in the same room for very long without very noisy hilarity erupting. (Even as old as we all are these days!)

  Anne, who now works at another branch, is a retired Major.  She was in the Air Force at a time when there were few women in the service, and very few female officers.  She was on a high-security air crew as a communications officer, and often had challenges when they had to get quarters on some bases.  There just weren't any visiting officer's quarters or crew rest facilities for females.  She has many interesting stories about her service.  She is a uniquely dedicated and persistent worker.  If Anne is on the job, it will be done, done right, and in a timely manner.  Some think she is a little brusk, but her laugh is often in evidence, her sense of humor one of the better ones I have known.  She came to sit with me in the hospital when Matt had his surgery.  She made me get up and walk around, made me drink something so I wouldn't dehydrate, and stayed much longer than anyone but our good friend Michael.

There is another coworker I must write about.  He works at the Library Service Center, and I mainly work with him through phone calls, notes, or email, as we both work on Inter-Library Loan  materials.  He is a Marine.  He retired as a Gunnery Sergeant.  After he retired, he worked as a corrections officer, and then he came to work for the library system.  Roger is grumbly and gruff, Mr. Tough Marine at first glance, but soon you see the warmth and the humor.   He is a stalwart presence among us, and we are proud to know him.  Another Old Marine I knew, Father Stan Donham, when I asked him to pray for Roger when Roger had surgery, said, "Oh, Gunnery Sergeants aren't born or made.  They are issued directly from the Quartermaster."  Of course he prayed for Roger, Marines stick together.  Father Stan lost his own fight with cancer while Matt was still in the hospital after his surgery. We were unable to go to the funeral.  Father Stan was a fighting Marine who served on Okinawa in WWII.  Father Stan was also the first among the clergy at St. Paul's that we met.  He welcomed us, and spoke with us, and introduced us to people, and we ended up in  the choir and helping with any number of other things.

I have an email friend who is a vet.  She was in the same career field as Matt when she retired.  She stayed in longer, got more rank, but also had to go remote to Korea for a year, and then got sent to Afghanistan.  She retired after she got back stateside.  She suffered an injury over there, and it did lots of damage.  Roxie is tough, though, the fighter pilots she used to work with called her "The Hammer", so you know she's not a marshmallow.  Roxie has gone back to school, gotten her degree, and is now working to help other vets.  She has faced cancer, and won.  She is a tough cookie.  She is also amazingly dedicated and caring in her work with her fellow vets.  She told a story today on Face book about an elderly gentleman who came in to get eyeglasses.  She called his name, using his rank of "Chief", and he didn't realize she was calling him.  He told her no one had called him "Chief" in more than 3o years.  She said that was wrong and a shame, because he worked hard to earn that rank, and that title, and he was entitled to be addressed by it.  He is 86 years old.  From the way she told that story, I don't know who made whose day.  Maybe Roxie made the Chief's day, but just maybe he made hers.  Respect.  It costs so little, but it is worth so much.

I have a cousin who is retired Air Force, my late Uncle Mickey was a retired Navy man, Uncle Wallace was retired from the Army,(he served in Viet Nam) , and my husband's nephew David is a veteran of three tours in Iraq and has a bum leg because he was injured over there.  He is out of the Army now, and was going to school.  We haven't heard a lot from him lately, so I hope he is OK.  He is married and has two little ones.  He was two the year Matt and I got married.  David used to escape from his kindergarten class when I was subbing at the school he went to and come find me when I was out on yard duty.  He doesn't remember doing that, but he sure did.  Secretly tickled me that he would do that just to see Aunt Katie.  I always took him back, and the teacher never seemed to get after him too bad for it.  She knew where he went, after all. I told him he shouldn't come out without asking first, though.
His mother, Matt's sister Carol is also a vet.  She was in the Air Force for awhile before Matt enlisted.  She got out when she was expecting her oldest. (In those days, they'd give you a discharge for being pregnant.  No more.  )

Of course, the vet I know best is my husband.  He served 20 years in the Air Force, most of them as an aircraft loadmaster.  He flew on C-130s and C-141s. He was deployed in 1990 for Desert Shield and stayed through the end of Desert Storm.  He ended his career as an Operations Resource Management Specialist.  He was the NCOIC of the Operations Resource Center for the 966th AWACS Training Squadron when he retired in 1998.  He served with great dedication, really enjoying his job and the many experiences it gave him.  He traveled all over the world, got to see all sorts of amazing things, got to drop some interesting things out of his airplane, and won recognition for the outstanding way he performed his job.  (He has lots of "confetti" on his dress blues.  Never mind that he hasn't had to wear them for about 15 years now.)


I know a number of our library customers are veterans.  A lot of the people who live in this area are.  Tinker is a large base with a nice commissary and a nice Exchange, and a very nice new clinic.  The community is very supportive of the base, it is the largest single location employer in the state.  Many military retirees live here, because the cost of living is pretty low, the quality of life is pretty good, and there is such a nice base here.  The retirees are also an excellent resource for the military because many of them volunteer on base and fill jobs that are needed but not funded.  They work in Morale and Recreation activities, they work in the pharmacy and clinic, all over really.  We are family.  If you are military, you are one of us.  We will care for you, stand by you, because we've worn those boots ourselves, or stood those lonely vigils waiting for a loved one to come back from a deployment.

My own life is made richer by the presence of so many veterans in it.  I bet if you think about it for awhile, you will find that you know a number of veterans yourself.  We owe these men and women our respect for the job they were willing to do so that we would have the life we enjoy now.  I am so proud of my father, my uncles, my cousin, my friends and my husband for difficult things they have done with grace and with valor.  I am, I must admit, a bit proud of myself for staying alone when Matt was away, even in a pretty bad neighborhood in San Bernardino, and for seven months in a foreign country.  My parents couldn't believe it, I've always been such a chicken, but if Matt could go off  and face unknown dangers (many missions were those that we were never sure if it was real or an exercise), then I could keep the home front running smoothly until he got back.
I pray our Congress would remember what we owe the men and women who were willing to give so much of their lives to the service of this country.  They have faced dangers most of us cannot imagine.  They deserve to have decent benefits for their service, and those who stay in long enough to retire should have more security than they do now.  Pensions are small, and the kids today will get even less if they stay in for a whole career, and we pay premiums for our medical benefits.  (Admittedly, they are a LOT less than anybody else would have to pay, but there was at one time the promise of free medical care for retirees.  That went away even before Matt retired.)  Vets and military retirees should not have to fear the loss of the benefits that they quite literally fought for.  That so many are without basic necessities  is shameful.