When the elderly woman who lived down the hill from my grandmother’s old house passed away a couple of years ago, I feared the worst. The house, a lovely old cottage style, with a big front porch and a barn on the side, was in complete disrepair. The yard was overgrown, screens were torn, and a good wind could have easily blown the barn down. As with what has happened to so many of the older homes in my home town, I figured that whoever ended up with this house would level it, and it would be gone forever.
After many months on the market, the sold sign appeared along with several dumpsters. First the barn came down. Then the beautiful front porch was taken off. I could see that walls had been torn down inside, and each time I passed by I held my breath, believing the house would have disappeared. But then, little by little, the house came back to life. The yard was tended. The windows reflected repairs and renovations going on inside, And today when I passed by, a new front porch stood out front, it’s fresh white railings looking crisp and welcoming. I smiled knowing this little cottage is going to stand proud, and hold the memories she keeps for years to come.

I had a wonderful, relaxing visit to the ocean yesterday – one of dozens, probably hundreds, I have taken over my lifetime. It never gets old, and I have come to realize that this love for the ocean is deeply rooted in my blood and spirit, all due to my father. From as far back as I can remember, visits to the ocean were special. We would sometimes go for a day, but once in a while for a week when I was really young. Since my mother hated the beach, the ocean, and all things associated, the whole experience was my father’s. He was a strong swimmer, and would haul us into the freezing Atlantic to jump the waves until we were all numb. We would carry our little pails out to the tide pools, uncovering rocks and picking up the little green crabs lurking underneath. Once our pails were full, we’d wade into the water and release them all back into the sea. My father loved deep sea fishing, and made friends with some of the locals at Rye Harbor. I can remember him coming home from a day there, our old station wagon full to the brim, and stinking to high heaven with shrimp, lobsters, clams and fish. He would fill the vegetable bin in the refrigerator with cornmeal, much to my mother’s chagrin, and dump all the clams in there to keep them fresh. We would open the fridge and be entertained by all the “clam bubbles” popping out of the cornmeal. Once they were ready to eat, we had our mugs of clam broth, and a bowl of drawn butter, and off we would go – shucking as many as possible. Part of the ritual was drinking the clam broth at the end of the meal . This drink was a fishy smelling broth with a lot of sand in it. I don’t know what the attraction was there, but we always drank it! I could dismantle a lobster before I could peel an orange. My father taught us all the ins and outs of getting every last morsel out of the shells, and wasting nothing. I can remember us sitting around at the end of the meal sucking on lobster legs in case anything was forgotten. All of this happened a very long time ago. My father has been gone almost 20 years, and it was a good 20 years before that when most of these events took place. But I can still remember him in his olive green plaid bathing suit – dashing into the cold Atlantic, calling us to join him. Every time I visit the ocean, he is still there. Miss you Dad.

My brother was born at seven months. I still remember my horror as a four year old when they introduced me to this chicken embryo-like creature whose ears were still unformed and who cried constantly. He was not the baby doll companion they had promised me. Growing up, he had multiple health problems – he had trouble hearing, he had allergies, and probably most significant was he had very poor eyesight. Growing up, we were very close, but very different. I was the social one, always off with friends, while he was a bookworm, preferring to read and do science experiments in his room. After high school he went on to college and graduated with a degree in chemistry. He developed rheumatoid arthritis and his eyesight worsened as he grew older. After a painful engagement breakup he took a trip to Arizona in the early 80’s. After a short stay, he decided the climate was much better for the arthritis, so two weeks later he packed up his meager belongings and moved away. Working various jobs to make ends meet, he ended up as a landscaper and a caretaker to a wealthy elderly woman. One night after he crawled into bed he was bitten by a scorpion, whereafter he drove himself to the hospital to be treated. Being Ed, he had the foresight to whack the scorpion dead to ensure no future encounter. Taking it a step further, he mailed it to my parents so they could see for themselves. Not what they were expecting in the mail. His life in Arizona was diverse and interesting – never staying in the same place for too long. The arthritis worsened over time to the point where he could barely walk and his feet were crippled with bent toes which were very painful. That summer he came back to NH for treatment. They broke all of his toes and re-set the bones straight, and he stayed long enough to recover before heading back out west. The next few years were filled with more indecision as he looked for his calling. At some point he decided to pursue the Franciscan way of life. Since he already lived the lifestyle of simplicity and near poverty, this was not a real lifestyle change. He earned a degree in theology, and spent about 8 months as a missionary in Guatemala – not the safest place to be. Sometimes we did not hear from him for long stretches of time. In 1995 he was ordained as a Franciscan brother. My mother and I went to visit him at that time, and although he reassured us he was safe where he lived in Las Vegas, we noticed that the “compound” where he lived was surrounded by iron fencing as he and the other brothers were the only Caucasians in the area. At night we could hear gunshots in the alley. Ed stayed on there for another couple of years, but he was not being fulfilled with this calling, so he eventually left the monastery and the brotherhood. Again, he moved from place to place – LA, Oregon, and I can’t remember where else. He decided to go back to school and earned a master’s degree in psychology. All the while, his arthritis and his eyesight worsened quite a lot. He was able to get medication for the arthritis in the form of injections he could give himself, but the eyesight became a source of worry of not if, but when he would go blind. He ended up getting a job in Las Vegas once again, this time as a drug and alcohol counselor, and a part time teacher. This period of his life was a dark time, as he had no other life but work. He often would find it difficult not to absorb the desperation of those he counseled, and went home to an empty run down apartment. He was nearly blind by that time, and it was a matter of safety that the state of Nevada had to take his drivers license, leaving him to his own devices to bet back and forth to work, to the grocery store and doctors appointments, etc. His job was demanding, but it was his life. In late 2015 he called to tell me he was being released from his position. It was decided that his disabilities were making him unfit to perform his work duties. He had repeatedly requested equipment that would allow him to transcribe notes, etc verbally so that he wouldn’t need to use a regular computer, but his requests were refused. Instead he was terminated. My sister and I decided in our great wisdom that he should come back to NH. We would find him a place to live and help him get settled. But Ed had other ideas. He decided that his life was there, and somehow he would turn things around. Little did we know. Early in 2016 the entire complex he lived in was condemned with bedbugs. He had to dispose of his couch, his mattress, and many of his possessions, and was basically left homeless with a small suitcase of what was left of his life. Still, he decided to stay. For a few weeks he managed to stay night to night in hotels, but this became expensive very quickly. One of his only friends at the time connected him with Catholic Worker, a halfway house of sorts where people can stay temporarily in exchange for working there, serving meals to the homeless, doing laundry, etc. There he stayed for about 6 months until he was able to obtain permanent housing in an over 55 complex. To hear him talk about it, one might think he has a palace. He is so appreciative of all the little things most of us take for granted. As time went on, he made many friends from Catholic Worker, who have helped him feel human again. They have donated furniture and dishes, and at Christmas they put up a little tree for him. Although he was too blind to see the tree, he could see the lights. As his blindness became more debilitating, he decided it was time to learn Braille. He began taking classes, and became acquainted with Angela’s House, a training center in Las Vegas teaching life skills to the blind. Through Angela’s House, he formed many more friendships, and has found his purpose in life, which is as it has always been – teaching and helping others. One day a week he spends with a terminally ill woman whose caretaker is also blind. One day he spends at Catholic Worker doing laundry for the homeless. Many days he goes to work on “the line” which is an empty lot where workers go to feed the homeless. One day he counsels people with drug and alcohol issues. He has recently become a consultant with MGM Grand . He was asked to be a spokesperson for the blind, and coordinate how MGM might become involved in helping Angela’s House, and aiding the blind community there. He has raised money and become a team leader for several vision walks in Las Vegas. His life is full and overflowing with good things and purpose. Around this time last year, Ed was diagnosed with cancer. As with everything else, he took it in stride, and dealt with it head on. 9 weeks of daily radiation followed, and as of his last checkup, his cancer is in remission.

My brother is one of a kind. He has had just about every hard knock a person can have, but not once, not ever have I heard “poor me”. He never complains. Ever. What I hear and what I see is someone who takes what he has been dealt and learns how to live with it. He has taken his blindness and turned it into a gift and a resource for others. He has taken what little he has and given it back to the homeless. I don’t tell him often enough how proud I am of him.

Here’s to you Ed.

Today I had to take Sam to the vet for shots. It was his first visit out since we got him a year ago, and I was not at all sure how he would fare on the ride over. My experience with cats in cars has been they don’t like it. With the exception of one large female I had years ago who would sit happily on the seat and enjoy the view, the rest of them have been howlers. Sam was no exception. I first had to get him into the carrier. It was rather like trying to stuff a large sausage with teeth and claws into a casing barely big enough to contain it. Once zipped in, he began the howling. The trip to the vet is about half an hour +/- on a good day. Today I got behind an elderly woman in a Volvo wagon doing 15 miles under the speed limit almost all the way over. The howling, yowling and lamenting coming from the carrier made me question whether there was just one cat with me. No amount of reassuring could quiet him. Once there, we stepped into the waiting room and out came a couple with a dog. Not a huge dog, but big enough to traumatize poor Sam even more. Skulking down in his carrier, he was not in a good mood when I brought him in for his shots. In spite of all, he had a good exam – 14 and a quarter pounds of solid cat, good teeth, no issues. I expected the ride home would be another sad chorus, especially where he was already miffed at me for taking him on this unpleasant ride, but nothing. He was quiet and content the whole way. Once at home, Indy met him at the door like he had been gone for weeks. Steve told me Indy cried and meowed the whole time Sam was gone. Go figure. His appointment is next.

They are the best of cats, they are the worst of cats. Sam and Indy. Brothers by chance, and now by choice. These two are as different as night and day. Sam, the grey tabby is a handsome solid 14 pounds of serious cat, but has more characteristics of a dog than not. He must have been a star student at obedience school in his previous life, as he responds to all verbal commands without exception. If he is away under a quilt in the far reaches of upstairs, I only need to call him once, and within seconds I hear the thud, and click click click of him coming down to see what I want. He responds to “get down and “no” spoken only once in a normal tone. Sammy only uses his claws on the scatching post and mat, and mostly eats just his food, with the exception of a couple of times when he snacked on my slippers and a tapestry purse. He waits patiently for his tin and bowl of cream in the morning, then sits on the stool at the butcher block with Steve and me while we have our coffee. Some days we almost expect him to say something. We have dubbed him “The Good Cat. Then there’s Indy. Sweet, loveable, naughty, naughty Indy. Dennis the Menace, Blondie. Indy has certainly caught up with Sam weight wise, and makes no bones about his love of food – diving head first into the kibble and scattering bits all over the kitchen. He has no problem snacking on my asparagus fern, and eating the blossoms off my oxalis. He does not respond to “No or “Get Down unless spoken in a loud stern voice 5 or 6 times. He comes to you when he feels like it. He is probably the most loveable cat I have ever known, but if he is distracted by something else I may as well be invisible. Despite the fact that he has been provided with a scratching post, mat, and a whole couch in the basement he is welcome to rip to shreds, he would much prefer the living room couch and the hooked rugs as his scratching places. The other night I mistakenly left my almost new red leather purse on the floor by a chair. It had a beautiful soft suede covering on the inside flap. I got up the next morning to see the purse open, and that beautiful suede in a tattered mess. INDY! I have chased him around several times when he managed to get his head caught in a paper bag or other container and couldn’t figure out how to escape. They certainly balance each other out, and no matter what, I love them both dearly. Such a joy having a happy purring cat to keep you company through the day.

I know this will really date me, but here goes…. The dynamics of Christmas shopping have certainly changed. I can remember many, many years ago, there were two ways to shop. 1) drive to a department store or mall or 2) manually fill out an order form and mail it out to Sears or Montgomery Ward and wait for your goods to arrive 3 or 4 weeks later.  The latter took some long term planning. The former was a series of what ifs – what if I don’t have time to get to the mall? What if it snows and the roads are bad? What if I get there and can’t find what I want? Etc etc etc. The whole process was a stress producing ordeal that just added to the overload of things to stress out about during the Christmas season. The next phase of shopping was ordering tnrough a catalog company like LL Bean or Lands End. Before we had the internet to do this on line, you would have to call the 800 number and read off your list of items to a customer service rep. Again, you could be looking at two weeks or more for delivery. Then came Amazon, followed by Amazon Prime. Now I can be lying in bed with my tablet, and with one click, order everything I need. And it’s on my doorstep in 2 days. We always do some local shopping which is what we did this past weekend, as it’s important to support the small business owners, and they have so much to offer in the way of unique gift items. But for those last things that are still on the list…..  I looked at the weather forecast tonight, and there is snow predicted for three days in the coming week. In the old days this would stress me out. But I just smiled and thought “good thing I have my Amazon finger.” Click.