Update: In response to one of the comments left below, I began to feel guilty (maybe more like petrified) about using this picture of a print. In order to avoid the copyright police I did the best I could to find the artist – not a difficult task and it came with a bonus. Check out Art That Makes You Laugh but be forewarned – you will laugh, be inspired and want to own one of his pieces. And just so you know, Jeff Leedy responded to my confession and says the picture can stay.
What the heck happened this year? And the blog? Where did it go? I just realized the titles for my last three posts could tell a story. Three months ago I mentioned I wanted to write. Nine days later marijuana had arrived. Two months after that I looked at the news feed on Facebook and saw it was I Love to Write Day.
So here’s the story. I felt trumped. No amount of word tweaking, plot twisting, or new endings could turn my 90,000 word memoir into the Erma Bombeck kind of masterpiece I had imagined in my head. It was just not going to happen. In an angry moment I placed Trumpette (our neurotic cat) dangerously close to the delete key.
But, a miracle happened. Marijuana had arrived. Trumpette inhaled a hefty dose and the next thing I knew she was attacking fireflies at the patio door in the middle of a sunny day. Wait. I got that wrong. We don’t have fireflies in California. I guess it was night time and they were moths. It seems I was in a kind of fog, maybe a contact high? I found myself back at the keyboard. Magic happened. While Trumpette purred off the pot, I rewrote the entire book. In one night. It was done. I sent it off to the publisher. And then I quit writing until I-Love-To-Write-Day came.
Remember that Bullet Journal I had started a few months back? I began a new list:
- Blog – maybe consider fiction
- Send Trumpette to rehab
- Find out why the publisher hasn’t contacted me
- Revise – try again
After 374 sleepless nights I have discovered it really is true that cats hate foil. The “nameless one,” has stopped climbing the blinds since I redecorated my bedroom with one full box of foil.
Several months ago I discovered scat mats. Cats hate electrical shocks. The “nameless one” has stopped rattling my closet doors since five foot scat mats guard each door.
So, I’m getting smarter in my old age. But now I must wear a sleep mask to avoid the glare of morning sun on foil and slippers lest I forget about the scat mat when choosing my morning attire.
The nameless one was such an sweet tiny thing, black with a sprinkling of gray, a quiet meow and a kinky tail. She begged to come home with us. My intuition was lost in the sorrowful gaze of this poor abandoned kitten. She crossed impenetrable boundaries and leaped into my arms. I’ll admit it – she has provided plenty of distractions from the serious side of life – but there needs to be a bit more balance. Which brings me to why she is called “the nameless one.”
After posting frequent exhibits of her behavior on Facebook for the last year, no one has been able to come up with a suitable name. There were great ideas – everything from Amber to Zelda. A couple of days ago I wanted to name her “Eve” after an “Eve of Destruction” (note the tattered edges of the blinds). She has been addressed as Shadow, Samantha, Mystic, Storm, Superwoman, Sabrina and many other names. She won’t answer to any except at dinner time. Then you can call her anything you please.
Next issue – the Nameless One has been thinking outside of the box. Ideas other than spraying my pillowcase with essence of lavender every night?