Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Kim wonders if she's missed something about me. Like maybe I'm a bit off. (It's okay, Kim, I read between the lines. Creative license for this here milking of the cat e-mail forward...)
Well, they do say what we know we assume to be "normal." (Actually, they don't say that, I did, which is probably why you just had to go back and give it another read or three before understanding dawned.)
As a five-year-old child my pet was a black and white cat named Lucy. (Creative spelling by yours truly -- Lousy -- but that's another story and my first book.)
Lucy birthed kittens. I discovered a delightful yet kind of disgusting thing about kittens. Their breath. Kittens have sour milk breath. Yes, it's true. How would I know this you might ask. Because I became addicted to smelling kitten breath. If I picked them up, and there were a bunch of them, they'd meow and I'd sniff. Ahhhh. Olfactory nirvana. I even became so intent on sniffing kitten breath that I remember squeezing a little kitten tail now and again to force a meow. I did try to sniff Lucy's breath because squeezing kittens seemed mean somehow. Hoo boy. Did that once.
Good news! The kittens survived and were likely even stronger because of my involvement in their nurture. And I got over the whole kitten breath thing when they began eating Friskies. Trust me.
However, have you smelled a human baby after it eats Cheerios. Smells almost as good as sweaty toes.