…Taking pictures of your dinner. Unless you have a waiter setting your cheese on fire or there is a 7-tiered waffle cake going on, I don’t need your photos of Mac and Cheese and mashed potatoes spamming up my feed!
…Reading your phone while walking! Seriously. You’re going to get hurt. Especially if I run your ass over. PUT THE PHONE DOWN and get out of the middle of the street.
…Using “I” and “me” in the wrong context. You sound stupid. This isn’t rocket science.
…Tagging me in rando crap on Facebook with another 47 people. Really…this is basically chain mail, isn’t it? Stop it.
…Posting pictures or videos of abused animals. I don’t want to see it. I just lost my cat. I DO NOT want to see photos of animals being tortured or neglected. JUST STOP. You’re not making a difference. We know it’s happening. I don’t want it creeping into my nightmares. THERE ARE WAYS TO HELP. Facebook is not necessarily the way.
…Wearing shoes you can’t walk in. I’m talking to you girl with the 3 inch stilettos hobbling along, bent over at the waist, trying to stay upright. If you can’t walk in them, don’t wear them. You shouldn’t look like a newborn deer or Mr. Magoo.
…Saying you’re not eating carbs. Especially when you don’t know what a carb is. Your body needs carbs. Carrots are carbs. Apples are carbs. (And don’t even get me started on Keto!!)
End of rant. For now.
Winston died 4 weeks ago today. This morning, actually. And although I am still in full devastation mode, the days have been seemingly a teensy bit better. I can’t imagine I’ll ever get over this loss, but I’m managing.
The morning he died, we had a delivery to my office and one of the delivery men was my friend’s “little” brother. I say that but I suppose once you hit a certain age, you stop referring to people as little anything. I was surprised to see him because he is not our usual delivery person. But there were two of them so he might have been in training that morning.
My office door had been closed most of that day because I was bawling the entire day and just honestly didn’t feel like talking to anyone. But for some reason, my door was open when these guys came in. I think maybe someone had been in back with me checking on me. Little Brother and the other delivery guy popped around the corner to make their way downstairs and spotted me in my office….crying. I said hello, as one does, and they both stopped with sheer concern on their respective faces and asked if I was okay. My coworker announced the news that my Winston had just died that morning. They both expressed condolences, and Little Brother came right in and gave me a big hug. He started exclaiming to his colleague that “Sandy is the love of my life. I have loved her since I was 10 years old!”
Apparently, I was Little Brother’s big crush. I had no idea. His sister and I were such good friend in high school and the years that followed and spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. How did I not know this? Maybe it’s because he was Little Brother. Just a cute little blond teddy bear that always says hi and hugs me through the years when we see each other. I never thought twice about it….
But would you look at that? I was someone else’s Jordan Catalano.
These shoes right here!!
Several years ago I posted about some very gorgeous Party Shoes that had caught my eye. And well, these red shoes have definitely caught my eye.
They showed up in my inbox via the H&M holiday email. They are so gorgeous and I have been searching for them ever since.
But they’re not on H&M’s website (that I can find) or in any of their Instagram photos. So I have no idea if they’re even H&M brand. But they are sooooo pretty. Don’t they just make you want to cry?
I’ve been having a really rough few months. My cat got sick in late July and stopped eating altogether at the start of August. I spent a lot of time and money at the vet trying to find out what was wrong with him but to no avail. (At least not with that vet clinic!) I spent the rest of the summer whipping him up tuna smoothies and feeding him via syringe. It was comparable to having a newborn….I was up all hours of the night. If he wanted to eat at 3am, I was up feeding him, any time he got up or stirred, I was awake too, checking on him. Waiting while he used his litter box, bringing him back to bed so he was close by, petting him, and listening to him purr.
Even though he had three different veterinarians check him (and a dozen visits), I finally had enough and took him to a new clinic and vet. Turns out, my poor boy had a cancerous mass on his kidney and my time left with him was limited.
I can’t get too much further into it because I am still grieving – heavily. But, Winston moved on to Kitty Heaven almost two weeks ago. My heart has been broken. My sweet boy had been by my side for 12 and a half years and I am still getting used to him not being here. I would give anything to be able to pick him up and cuddle him and listen to him purr like a little motor. I’d go another summer of sleepless nights to have him flip his water dish over or claw me in the middle of the night or scamper underneath my feet, making me fall.
But he’s not here. And I haven’t cried yet today but I can feel the lump forming in my throat and the tears are glossing over in my eyes, so I have to stop talking/writing/thinking about him for a little bit and gather my emotions.
And yes. I’m grieving for my cat. He was more than a cat. He was a companion and a friend and a guardian. He was my boy. I will be grieving for him for a long time.
So there it is. That’s how my life has been going the last three and a half months. Worry and fear and stress and sadness and anxiety. And sleepless nights. But I would do it all again for him. For just a few moments more with him.
Now here I am. At a loss for inspiration and with this dull, constant ache inside me. Thankful for the distractions of work and friends and whatever else happens to pop into my life these days. Last week is was Halloween. And now we’re moving onto Christmas. And here I am on a Monday evening in early November writing an ode or memoir to my Winston with a Hallmark Christmas movie and Candace Cameron Bure as background noise while I type and search for inspiration for upcoming posts.
If you have any suggestions, I am open to them. At least for a bit. I need the distractions because when I am alone with my thoughts I am bombarded with sadness and then I just can’t delay the tears. And once that flood gate is open…oh my. It just won’t stop.
So please, if you have any ideas for me – so I can have something to write about and not dwell on the death and now the absence of my longtime companion, please let me a note below.
In the meantime, I’m doing my best. I’m hanging in there. I haven’t been able to bring myself to put anything on his corner of the bed, but one day that day might come. In the meantime, I’ll be here.
I have been in a bit of a funk this October. And I haven’t been much in the mood for watching horror movies, per my annual Halloween Countdown. But I’ve been trying.
I usually look forward to Scream-fest or Fear-fest or whatever else is on TV. TMC is a great channel for old horrors and that’s where I watched my first horror of the season: The Old Dark House.
This movie was released in 1932 and stars Boris Karloff and Gloria Stuart (the old Rose from Titanic).
I was kind of excited to watch this movie as I’ve read good reviews about it. But I found it hard to follow and hard to hear. And I eventually got a little bored with it.
A small group of travellers caught in a storm come upon an old house in the countryside where they receive shelter by Horace Femm and his sister Rebecca. Horace fears that the storm will trap the guests inside while warning them that their mute butler Morgan is a dangerous heavy drinker. Rebecca tells Margaret about the Femm family, which she says was sinful and godless, and accuses Margaret of being sinful as well. Rebecca also reveals that her 102-year-old father still lives in the house.
There is a very quick romance (hey, we just met but…let’s get married!), there’s a pyromaniac locked in an upstairs room, there’s a fight and a death, and there are some creepy people.
This movie let me down. It was confusing and rushed and the ending was oh-so-terrible.
Watch it if you want…or don’t. I doubt it will make much difference.
Next up….Jeepers Creepers 2.
I was sick a lot when I was little. I was in and out of the hospital – usually with pneumonia – and I missed out on a lot of things.
I remember one year I was supposed to go outdoors ice skating with my Brownies group. But I was sick again and not able to go.
I am pretty sure I whined about that excursion quite a bit because one weekend, right around Christmas, my dad packed me up and took me to a pond (just off the highway connector) so that I could skate. It wasn’t as much fun as being with a bunch of my Brownie friends, and we weren’t out for long, but I remember it well. I slid and slided and skated over that ice like I was a ballerina – even in my snowsuit (Nova Scotia winters are cold y’all) – the shine from the sun my spotlight. And then it was time to go.
And every time I pass that pond, usually with ducks sitting in it or cows grazing around it, I think of my skating excursion.