Edgy Mama

I’m writing here today. At Mountain Xpress. In honor of both the recent world series and summer. Yep, next summer even.

Biscuit coming off anesthesia

Actually, the pup was only pitiful for about 8 hours after his surgery (yep, it was the one guys don’t want to talk about).

I’m supposed to keep him “quiet” for 7-10 days. Right. Once the anesthesia wore off, it was back to frisky Biscy. When I refused to play with him, he commenced to humping his bed enthusiastically. I guess it takes a while for the testosterone to work its way out of his system.

Houdini, the pelvic-fractured feline, is getting a bit better every day. He just started moving around a bit, albeit gingerly, looking rather like a 95-year-old man maneuvering on an uneven surface. He spends most of his time on his bed, either in the crate or in the sun on the screened-in porch. He’s happiest when snuggling. Luckily, the kids help me love on him.

I tell you though, the litter box is about to do me in. It’s a very small litter box, small enough to fit inside the crate with the cat, the cat’s bed and food and water (see below). Therefore, when he uses it, Houdini either paws a good of bit of litter out of the box or just turns the whole box on its side. Yuck.

Remarkably, Biscuit seems to understand that his friend is injured, and when I let Houd drunkenly wander around the living room, Bisc just gives him a hello lick and watches him for a few minutes. He seems perplexed by the fact that the kitty doesn’t want to run, play or swat at him.

This is a gorgeous painting by local artist and blogger Genie Maples, which got lots of bids at Saturday night’s art auction and benefit for the Western North Carolina AIDS Project. Jorge, who works at WNCAP, won the bid for Genie’s work. He said he’d had his eye on the painting since it came through their door.

I didn’t indulge in any art, other than taking snapshots of the event for the worthy organization (far from art). Genie’s painting was part of the extensive silent auction, which was followed by a live auction of 12 or so of the art pieces. The auctioneer, Matthew Holiday, was imported from Spartanburg, SC, and he was amazing. I’ve never seen a live auction before. The patter plus the bidding wars were exhilarating. And all for a great cause.

My dear older cuz, Wozie, had the opening for her art pieces at Timothy Tew Galleries in Atlanta last night. Here’s some of her remarkable work.

She’s been an artist since we were little, but now she’s really coming into her own. I hear the opening was a great success with lots of sales. Way to go, girl!

I have a small “Wozie” in my dining room (actually, it belongs to my girl), which I imagine is worth quite a bit now. Of course, it’s worth much more to me, because it’s a piece of my cuz that I get to look at every day.

Since everyone else is talking about it, I figured I’d throw my opinion into the ring.

So Jo Rowling announces that Dumbledore is gay, which explains a lot about the Grindelwald story, which I found a bit confusing.

My guess is that Rowling has always known that DD was homosexual, but she just forgot to mention it. Either she thought it’d be obvious to the reader, or she just didn’t realize that she hadn’t explicitly mentioned it in the 1,000s of pages that make up the seven books of the Harry Potter series.

That said, I’m sad that this will give the crazies more ammunition against the books. Witches and hexes and homos….oh my!

What do y’all think?

BTW, What the Hell? has a much more thoughtful analysis of DD’s sexuality from her unique Pixie Dyke pov.

I’m writing here today at Mountain Xpress. If you’ve even been a mite bit hormonal or known a hormonal parent, this one’s for you!

I was talking to my Dad tonight about the past week, and, after a few minutes, he said he’d had enough. What with the cat getting run over and attending the memorial service for a young mom, it’s been one of those.

Houdini gets a bit better every day, though he’s still rather pitiful. Mostly, he sleeps in his bed in the crate, occasionally maneuvering himself slowly and painfully into the litter box. When the sun hits the screen porch, I take him and his bed out there, so he can sleep in the sun.

The memorial service was both wrenching and lovely. The highlight for me was Melissa’s husband’s eulogy. His theme was “community trumps tragedy.” As angry and sad as he was, he still found solace in the outpouring of love and support that his family has received throughout Melissa’s illness and death. Even so, the tragedy part still sucks. But the service felt like one of those novels that wrecks emotional havoc, but, in the end, leaves you with a glimmer of redemption that makes the experience worthwhile.

As Dad says, enough about that. If you want to read what I wrote about Melissa just after she died, it’s somewhere in my September archives. I can’t seem to link to previous articles within my blog. If you can tell me how, please do.

All this, plus trying to find the right summer camp for my girl (see next week’s column) has got me thinking, albeit not very clearly.

Firstly, I’m going on beer fast until Thanksgiving, because I can feel myself sliding into drinking a beer or two per night for relaxation purposes. How is this relevant to the above? I love beer, but too much is not healthy for my mental clarity or my waistline.

Secondly, friendship, and what it means, keeps popping through my be-fogged brain. Out of the blue today, my girl, who was reading “Friendship According to Humphrey” by Betty G. Birney, for the eighth time, said, “Mom, let me read you this.”

This is what she read aloud to me:

“A person can have many friends in her life. Even if you move on, a friend can be forever. At least in your memory.”

I’m not sure why she wanted to read this to me. She didn’t say. But, particularly after the memorial service, it made me happy.

I also received an e-mail yesterday from an old friend with whom I’d reconnected at my high school reunion last year. Over a year ago, this friend quit her job, sold her home, and she and her 18-year-old son went on a trip around the world for a year.

She wrote a beautiful story telling about an evening spent with a woman named Gloria in Swaziland. She said, “As we parted ways with Gloria that evening, she said to us, ‘I will not tell you goodbye as I know we will cross paths again. People who connect with each other have paths that intersect many times.’”

This also made me happy. Thus is life. Sorrow, pain, and angst mixed with joy, community and friendship.