Zach and the Newly Transformed Guest Bedroom

As I type up this little blog thot, Zach the Cat sleeps soundly on the guest bed behind me on this Memorial Day holiday. It’s nice to have his presence in the house as I piddle on projects or as I jump on the computer and set my writing muse free.

One of my projects on this 3-day weekend has been accomplished—rearranging my guest bedroom that also doubles as a corner home office. I have longed for better “office” space and better aesthetics in general in my guest bedroom.

And so I dismantled the room.

Out went one of the two twin beds. In came a fake tree-type plant. Out went a night stand. In came a five-foot long bench. Out went one of my two book cases. In came an oval braided rug. What was against the wall is now open and turned towards a window. What was up against the window is now pointed towards the door.

The room is wonderfully more open, airy, light, and free of furniture crammed in all corners, against walls, and in front of the window. I love it.

Zach the Cat hated it.

When he first gingerly peeped into the new-and-improved guestroom, he stopped at the door and bellowed. Nothing looked familiar to him. His favorite window perch—which was the foot of one of the twin beds at the front window—was gone. His other window perch atop the two-drawer file cabinet was gone. The twenty-plus-year-old blue two-seater sofa/pull-out-bed which served as an alternate sleeping area for Zach was now on the opposite side of the room (which means the WRONG side to Zach).

For the last 48 hours Zach has refused to sleep on the one twin bed left standing. I would put him up there, push his hinny down, and say, “See, it’s a great place to sleep. You can even see out the window from this angle.” But as soon as I tip-toed away, down and out he’d go.

I brought in a five-foot long “church bench” in front of the window. I even put two blankets on it for a soft perch. In my mind, it's just perfect to sit there and watch the world walk and drive by.

Zach has hesitantly jumped up there and ponderously looked out the window for a few minutes, but I can tell he’s not excited about it like he was  about the end of the twin bed or the top of the filing cabinet.

“This looks really pretty,” I explained to Zach as I pointed to the church bench. He turned and eye-ed it for a moment and then turned back to slowly, disgustingly walk away.

The breakthrough happened today. As I was in and out of the house working on three other projects (which are impossible to complete in the remaining hours left of this holiday), I noticed Zach was nowhere to be found.

Not on the sofa in the living room (a familiar sleep spot).

Not on my bed or in my rocker in my bedroom (other familiar resting places).

Then I spotted him. He was in the guest room on the solo twin bed curled up on my newly cleaned comforter. I went over to him and whispered in his ear how happy it made me to see him ease up on the guest-room criticisms, judgments, and general unhappiness. Then I lightly kissed the top of his head.

He purred as he kept his eyes shut.

With my cat asleep on the twin bed, the newly transformed guest room is now prettier than ever.

Ragged in the Rain



A profusion of pink roses

bending ragged in the rain

speaks to me

of all gentleness and its enduring. 

~The Collected Later Poems of William Carlos Williams



Deck Strain...I Mean Stain

Do you like my deck?

You're right.

This isn't my deck nor my home nor my neighborhood.

My humble deck is 1/8th the size of this pictured deck.

After the eight or so steps over the last eight days of readying my deck to stain (thank you Google for guiding me to those helpful steps and stages of deck cleaning, brightening, washing, etc.), I finally applied my water-based (acrylic), semi-transparent, light redwood stain yesterday.

Today I'm applying moist heat to my back. I don't get why it strained my body to stain my deck. Surely not the age thing...?

I think there are slight images

of cat paw and cat rear prints in one corner.

I would have never believed my picky cat would walk across and sit down on a freshly (stinky) stained deck.

Unlike God who declared, "I make all things new" (Rev. 21:5), I can only make my deck like new . . . for a while  . . . until it fades and needs another go-around next year.

SO GLAD this project is completed.

Now on to the list of 48 other home projects....

Zach's Tatt

I got a tattoo for upcoming Mother's Day.

Don't tell Mama Kay!

(It's a secret.)

Procrastination Queen

Why?  Why do I wait to get things done? Why do I KILL MYSELF in writing and formatting and creating AT THE FLAT LAST MINUTE?!

I've had since ... oh say ... February (maybe January) to get my assigned "lecture" done for tomorrow's Big Dilly... and I just got off the computer 2 minutes ago (10:30ish) finishing it.

I've had since .... oh say ... last fall to get my other assigned "lecture" done for Friday's Big Dilly . . . and I'm still finishing up the 10 pg. handout, notes, Power Point.

And it's mere days before taxes are due, and I still have not gathered all my stuff together for my H & R visit.

Why do I DO THIS PROCRASTINATION???!!!

I'm 56 years old and I still have to work on self-discipline and organization and orderliness.  It's like I'm getting worse with age instead of better.

I'm supposed to be organized by this age.

I'm supposed to be planned, poised, and prioritized by this age.

I'm supposed to be calm by this age.

I'm supposed to be wise and smart and collected by this age.


sigh.......

At least the computer didn't crash, the printer didn't jam, and the assignment is done.

Off to bed for this immature procrastinator. 

Come to think of it, I think I've been this way all my life.

See, I'm even running late for bed.....

Gnawing

I have nearly chewed all my nails off.

When I write, I chew.

When I have things due that are breathing down my neck, I chew.

I've worked and worked on two presentations which are due next week.

I am STRESSED about them. Why? That's not like me.

And so now there's little acrylic nail pieces in the living room and at the desk where I type.

I'm in "nail hell." I need help. I should be in a Nail Biter's Support Group.

Instead I will go to Wonder Nails tomorrow after work and get all new acrylic nails laid on top of my psycho-looking nails.

Two weeks from now I will be calmer and my acrylic nails will stay on longer.

Sigh.

For now I will paint over what I have left and then go to bed to start another new day.

Amen.

A Lesson in the Target Parking Lot

     Friday night after supper at Jason's Deli with dear friends, I ran errands to Office Depot and then to Target.

     After I checked out from Target, I noticed a heavy-set, hair-thinning, awkward-walking, fifty-ish man going out the door in front of me. He seemed to have a physical (and maybe somewhat mental) impediment of some sort. His large jeans bagged on him and hung on his heavy hips. A bunch of his thin hair was plastered to the back of his head as if he had been sleeping and then rose up to come to Target. My heart went out to him.

     After he cleared the exit door into the darkness of the parking lot, he began hollering. He was talking to a noticeably mentally-challenged woman who stood by a large, old van parked in the Target handicap spot.

     He cussed the woman.
     He cussed someone she mentioned who needed a favor.
     He cussed about not wanting to pay for gas.
     He filled the night and the parking lot with profanity and anger and emotional bile.

     I shook my head as I walked past all his loud-mouthed complaining and barking. When I got to my car, I turned around for one last look. He now sat in the driver's seat with the van door open still shouting and cursing at the poor woman who had climbed into the passenger's seat.

     I was never so glad to get into my car and drive away from the intense fury and bitterness pouring out of that man. Why did he have to impose his words, profanity, emotions, and fury on all of us just trying to make it to Target and back to our cars with kids, bags, friends, and ringing/texting cell phones? Instead of PDA--public display of affection (which would have at least been more pleasant) he did PDP--public display of profanity.

     I was sad for the woman in the car who was obviously catching the shrapnel of his anger.
     Yes, the man had probably experienced rejection most of his life, probably had been abused in some sort(s) of way(s) growing up, and so on. But wouldn't it be great if he could rise above his past and his deficiency and take responsibility for himself, his feelings, his actions, his inactions, etc.

Take responsibility.


Be mature.


Work on growing and shaping the true, good, unique man that he is. . .
   and share that wonderful self
     with the passengers in his life,

           with the strangers in his nights,

               with the accusers,
                   the rejectors,
                        the elite,
the down-and-out,
       the users,
             the abusers.


It takes work,

humility,

accountability,
honesty,
self-forgiveness,
people-forgiveness,
God-forgiveness,
self-love,
people-love,
God-love,
patience,
perseverance.
    

     But the work is worth the diamond-like/gold-like value mined in a man or a woman instead of the vileness vomited forth from an angry man or woman.

    
The shouting, cussing man with baggy jeans, thinning hair, and an impediment taught me that taking personal responsibility will bring healing to me as well as to those around me.

Oh Lord God, please touch that man with your healing love and forgiveness. 

Quiet his deep anger with the deeper

love of Jesus.