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Write Now!
This blog started as a 'Lenten Writing Project', where we wrote each day in Lent. Now that Summer is here, let's keep up the discipline of writing with a weekly writing challenge! A prompt will be posted each week and anyone is welcome to join in and post their writing here or participate just by reading it.
Every writer has their own special light to add to this blog and all of your writing offerings are appreciated, whether poetry, prose, essay, thoughts, lists or comments and encouragement.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
All God's Creatures...
Write about the glimpses of God you've seen in or through animals.
James Swanson brought his calf to the animal blessing this year. James hoped the calf would become a grand champion later this summer. Pastor Todd Hinson had lead this ceremony for the past 3 years. He had blessed dogs, cats, chickens, 18 horses (someone keeps count), guinea pigs, a ferret that had nearly escaped (not wanting the Holy Hand anywhere near him), a couple of parakeets, one goldfish, a lama (from who knows where), pigs and a hawk (with a hood – that both fascinated and scared the pastor). They did the simple ceremony at 12:30 out front of the church, a half hour after worship which made it convenient for the Pastor but awkward for the people with their animals. The Pastor would say a few words inspired by and often quoting St. Francis and then each of the animals was moved toward the front, if they were able, for a simple blessing. The first year there were only 5 animals and Pastor Hinson thought that that would be the end of it. But the event had a champion, Jeannette French. She had the idea in the first place and she thought five animals was a huge success! She was thrilled and encouraged and redoubled her efforts. An article in the small local newspaper, signs around town and she plugged effectively into the local gossip mill. This year, the third year of the event, two other local churches had been invited and encouraged and some would say harangued. Another Lutheran church some twenty miles away sent three dogs and a cat. There were 81 people this year and 52 animals. Pastor Carlson was trying not to keep score but they usually only had 54 people at worship and this event brought 81, 81! He had wanted to grow the church a bit but never in his wildest evangelism dreams did he think it would happen through animals! Animals! He was developing a reputation as the Animal Pastor, which was the nicest way people said it. There was also the Beast Priest, the Raptor Rector, the Chicken Victor and the list went on. For a guy who grew up in the city, who wasn’t a big fan of ‘live’ animals the whole thing still made him a bit uncomfortable. Still, the reputation opened door into some people’s lives. Dora Flebs, who had never been to his church, called him when her daughter’s horse took ill. She sobbed and sobbed when he arrived and threw herself into his arms saying, “She’s dying, she’s dying!” The horse was ill and needed a vet, but she was really talking about her teenage daughter. Eve had been diagnosed with Leukemia two weeks ago and Dora had no one to talk to, so Pastor Hinson was the first one she told. Hank Gilbert invited him out to his farm. They walked out into one of the fields and Hank talked about how his father and grandfather farmed this same land. He talked about a reverence that his grandfather and he shared for animals they farmed. They worked them and in the end they were food. But they were a part of what made life possible and they understood the great gift. He looked at the Pastor with tears in his eyes and said he had never told this to anyone but “I thought you would understand”. And Todd did. Pastor Todd stood on the church steps as the people took their animals back to their vehicles and thought about the experiences. One more animal blessing, one more crazy time. He shook his head and headed for his car. He was parked next to Clay Green, another farmer and local wise guy. Clay was standing behind the vehicles at the edge of the field picking up a clump of dirt. “Gonna take it home Clay?” Clay squeezed it and it all turned to dust. “Blessing the vermin in one thing Padre, bringing the rain is what we need now. We’ve had clouds but no rain. They teach you that at the Seminary?” Todd shrugged his shoulders “Let me work on work on it…” With that a long low rumble came out of a cloud to the south. Clay shook his head, turned and looked at Todd. “Yeah, you do that!”
I tried to write about animals for this, but I think God has done so much for me through animals that I didn't know where to begin. I am not finished with wanting to write about this, but it will come later.
The light and the dark I have two cats. They were my babies until I had babies. I know that sounds bad, but, I mean, I really spoiled them, which did a great disservice to their character. I even used a small period of unemployment to be a stay-at-home catmom. (long story short, the more time I spent with them, the more they were like, “You still here?? You gonna leave soon so that we can put hair on your pillow and barf in your slippers?” Why aren’t there more SAHCMs? Mystery solved. My husband and I got our first cat about 1 ½ years after we got married. It was beautiful: all sleek black with green eyes. I chose the name Bijoux (French for “jewels”) and kept it indoors like we promised the Humane Society, where we got her. I think I even had to raise my right hand when I promised it. One day, Bijoux was let outside. Just on the deck, for an afternoon, and she was hooked. The only problem was that she did not want to stay on the deck. She wanted to explore the world. From then on, she wanted to go outside. Really badly. This cat was and is incorrigible about it. Typically, if she wants something, she will literally not give up AT HER OWN LIFE’S PERIL to get it. She wants to go in your room while you’re sleeping so she meows for hours until she gets bored. She wants to go outside so she scoots right under your foot even though you can’t see her because you’re carrying groceries. She wants you to pet her – more endless meowing. Not pet her. Because you started, so you get an almost-bite (she mouths you, telling you that she COULD have bitten you if she had wanted to. Like giving you the cat version of the “gun show”. She wants to go up on the table and lick your water so that it smells like weird eggs when you go to drink it (so you know she’s been there). There Is. Hair. Everywhere. We have combed out hairballs that we could make other cats out of. She literally meows like: Meow. Meow. Meow. RIOW. WOWH. MOWA. Outside our door with volume if I don’t let her in to sleep on my head and baptize my pillow with hair, which doesn’t work for me because I have asthma. We didn’t consider all this a bad mix because we were so enamored with her. She was a diva. A cute spoiled little princess the way pictures of other people’s cute spoiled princesses are cute – until you meet them and they bap you in the face with their wand and scream at you for repeated ice cream installments into their grubby little hands. Then one day, we decided to get another cat – Snowy. I saw her at a natural pet food store and she and some other kittens were just roaming around the store. Though at first I fell in love with a fluffier one (ever the sadomasochistic asthmatic), I jokingly called Jim to come over and see it and he actually did. We ended up with – not the fluffy one – a little white short haired cat with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. Slightly crossed, but in a cute, ‘poor wittle me, I don’t know anything’ kind of way. We named her Snowy (Jim got to name the second cat, thus the normal name)and it turned out that she had been injured at the pet store. Someone may have accidentally stepped on her or something may have fallen on her. So she had to go to the vet right away for xrays and tests. I still get tears in my eyes when I listen to Dianne Reeves singing “Broadway Babies” because it was playing right after I got the news from the vet that we might have to consider putting this adorable little kitten down. All turned out OK, but she is still a bit fragile and doesn’t like to be picked up – though she is friendly in a shy way and is quite happy to have her head pet as long as you don’t pet anything else. Even though both cats were female (and spayed), they took an almost immediate liking to each other. Bijoux started grooming Snowy right away and enjoyed having a little fan club everywhere she went. Everything was perfect. (cont.)
(cont...) Except that Bijoux still wanted to go outside. She was/is this mix of smart/stupid. She wants what she wants and has creative ways to get it, but she will also risk everything to get it. Our house was small – 900 square feet – and it wasn’t enough room for her. Snowy on the other hand was perfectly happy to stay inside. She was the less-clever one, in a blonde stereotype kind of way, but she and I both knew that if she took one step outside – with her smaller-than average, fragile body and almost albino coloring, she wouldn’t last long. I always imagined a Dingo swooping down and snapping her up as a small tasty snack - even though Dingoes aren’t anywhere near the suburban Seattle area, but it would be just her luck. She had enough intuition to know that inside was best for her. We would get so mad at Bijoux when she tripped us in the act of shooting out the door to eat grass that she would only barf later. We tried to give her some potted indoor wheat grass to make her happy, but she didn’t care. She wanted the real stuff. And it wasn’t just the grass. It was all the stimulation from outside – the possibility of birdkill, bugkill, sunshine and control over her own life and destiny. She didn’t want to be a terrarium cat – sitting in the window, admired by passers-by and laughed at by ‘legitimate’ wildlife. Still, we promised the Humane Society, where we we got her from that we would never let her outside so that her life could be longer. I even tried to reason with Bijoux one day, “what do you want to be – happy and possibly dead? Or alive and miserable!!” We both were so conflicted. Then we had kids. Oooh Nellie. You perhaps know how that goes. When I was pregnant, the cats loved to curl up under the covers beside my gigantic belly. Cats have extra-sensitive hearing, so perhaps they could hear something going on in there. However, once our first baby was born, as much as we never thought we would do this, our cats were demoted from our practice-children to bitter tenants that hate us. Once when I was carrying my infant in one of those huge carseat carriers, exiting out of my front door with also a huge baby bag, purse and the 50 other things a first-time mom takes with her on a journey to the local grocery store and Bijoux tried to shoot out under my foot. I almost dropped the baby, twisted my ankle and stepped on Bijoux. I was so livid that I yelled at my cat (which really does nothing but make the yeller look like a crazy jerk). Once my first child was mobile, her favorite thing was to pull, push, grab fur and poke Bijoux (again - showing uncharacteristic smarts, Snowy always stayed far away from the baby). Instead of running away or even biting or scratching, Bijoux just sat there and took it. Crazy! I tried to scoot her away, but she always immediately came back for more. It was maddening. I wanted to save Bijoux from getting tortured and my daughter from her inevitable scratch. Jim said that a scratch would teach Clara not to do it anymore and I would go with that – as long as he could promise me that it wasn’t a scratch in the eye. Once when Jim was travelling and I was alone with my 1 year old and two cats for a week, I remember that by the end, tired and struggling, Bijoux tried to do her little trick and I came at her (to put her back in the house) with such a venom, that she actually hissed at me. I knew that I was getting to be a really bad catmom. Cats aren’t equal to a kid, but two cats together can equal a deadbeat roommate, just out of rehab who hates you. Then we had another daughter. The transition from one baby to two is such a daily adrenalne rush – a ninja acrobatic freakshow of catching flying plates, doing tricks, taming lions, and making a sensible dinner and raising happy kids. (cont.)
(...cont) By then the cats were done with me. I had weaned them off of sleeping in my room completely but on random occasions, Bijoux would strut down the hall with a toy in her mouth (which makes her 1,000 times louder. Why??) calling out “Roaw! Roaiiiw!” at 2am. With my baby’s night feedings and all the other things you wake up for in the middle of the night with kids – fevers, barfs, nightmares, weird noises, etc. I couldn’t afford to be up all night wheezing because Ihad to be ready for “showtime” in the morning. The cats still got pet, fed, ‘watered’ and cared for, albeit definitely less petting than before but there was no patience for Bijoux’s special demands and Snowy got a little lost, arriving last in the attention line. It would have been easy to make Bijoux an outdoor cat, but I had made a promise and it came down to a battle of wills between me and my cat. Luckily, we moved to a bigger house. We finally exploded out of our old one, hemorrhaging cheerios and Polly Pockets accessories. Bijoux was happier and didn’t try to go outside anymore, though the hair and cat smell in our house is finally getting to me – my asthma kept getting worse. However, it has made me more proactive about treating it, which I never did before. I’m sure it sounds like I hate my cats. Many days, I do. However, I also love my cats. They are family. I don’t want to teach my girls (and myself) that you can leave family behind just because they become inconvenient. Some of my friends got rid of their cats after they had kids for many good reasons and they were, all of them, very kind and thoughtful about the arrangements that they made for the cats to live with other families. I do not, for a moment, compare our decisions. I could choose a nice little old lady who is ready for a beautiful cat diva and a beautiful sensitive cat that seems to be part mouse for company. Some days that idea is immensely attractive to me. Maybe at the core of it, I don’t want to admit that I can’t do it all – be a catmom and a kidmom. This arrangement SHOULD work out. I try to remind myself that Bijoux is God’s creature – that God is IN her (though manytimes it seems the opposite) and being kind to her is being kind to God. Snowy is easier to remember this about. Here is how I have seen glimpses of God through my cats: forgiveness. That quiet look they give me when I screw up as a catmom. The way that they give my kids second chances after they’ve been manhandled. And the way that, when the kids are sick or I’m upset, they sit by my side, purring (sometimes), just being present with us and our feelings. The kids love my cats and have finally – now that they’re over the age of two, developed a relationship with the cats. They know how to be with them and how to be gentile. It’s been a long, hard road, but now as I stay up, typing this at 1am my cat, Bijoux is purring next to my leg and I have renewed my old tradition of letting Snowy drink the remains of my milk from my cereal before I put the bowl in the sink. It’s hard having two kids and two cats.. However, I am stubborn in my love. I will not leave them. Chalk it up to the history of my name and, “wither thou goest”, but I will not leave them. I love them like family, which means that sometimes they get on my very last nerve, but family sticks together and makes it work.
Animal Blessing
ReplyDeleteJames Swanson brought his calf to the animal blessing this year. James hoped the calf would become a grand champion later this summer. Pastor Todd Hinson had lead this ceremony for the past 3 years. He had blessed dogs, cats, chickens, 18 horses (someone keeps count), guinea pigs, a ferret that had nearly escaped (not wanting the Holy Hand anywhere near him), a couple of parakeets, one goldfish, a lama (from who knows where), pigs and a hawk (with a hood – that both fascinated and scared the pastor).
They did the simple ceremony at 12:30 out front of the church, a half hour after worship which made it convenient for the Pastor but awkward for the people with their animals. The Pastor would say a few words inspired by and often quoting St. Francis and then each of the animals was moved toward the front, if they were able, for a simple blessing.
The first year there were only 5 animals and Pastor Hinson thought that that would be the end of it. But the event had a champion, Jeannette French. She had the idea in the first place and she thought five animals was a huge success! She was thrilled and encouraged and redoubled her efforts. An article in the small local newspaper, signs around town and she plugged effectively into the local gossip mill.
This year, the third year of the event, two other local churches had been invited and encouraged and some would say harangued. Another Lutheran church some twenty miles away sent three dogs and a cat. There were 81 people this year and 52 animals. Pastor Carlson was trying not to keep score but they usually only had 54 people at worship and this event brought 81, 81!
He had wanted to grow the church a bit but never in his wildest evangelism dreams did he think it would happen through animals! Animals!
He was developing a reputation as the Animal Pastor, which was the nicest way people said it. There was also the Beast Priest, the Raptor Rector, the Chicken Victor and the list went on. For a guy who grew up in the city, who wasn’t a big fan of ‘live’ animals the whole thing still made him a bit uncomfortable.
Still, the reputation opened door into some people’s lives. Dora Flebs, who had never been to his church, called him when her daughter’s horse took ill. She sobbed and sobbed when he arrived and threw herself into his arms saying, “She’s dying, she’s dying!” The horse was ill and needed a vet, but she was really talking about her teenage daughter. Eve had been diagnosed with Leukemia two weeks ago and Dora had no one to talk to, so Pastor Hinson was the first one she told.
Hank Gilbert invited him out to his farm. They walked out into one of the fields and Hank talked about how his father and grandfather farmed this same land. He talked about a reverence that his grandfather and he shared for animals they farmed. They worked them and in the end they were food. But they were a part of what made life possible and they understood the great gift. He looked at the Pastor with tears in his eyes and said he had never told this to anyone but “I thought you would understand”. And Todd did.
Pastor Todd stood on the church steps as the people took their animals back to their vehicles and thought about the experiences. One more animal blessing, one more crazy time. He shook his head and headed for his car.
He was parked next to Clay Green, another farmer and local wise guy. Clay was standing behind the vehicles at the edge of the field picking up a clump of dirt.
“Gonna take it home Clay?”
Clay squeezed it and it all turned to dust. “Blessing the vermin in one thing Padre, bringing the rain is what we need now. We’ve had clouds but no rain. They teach you that at the Seminary?”
Todd shrugged his shoulders “Let me work on work on it…”
With that a long low rumble came out of a cloud to the south.
Clay shook his head, turned and looked at Todd. “Yeah, you do that!”
I love your story, Larry.
ReplyDeleteI tried to write about animals for this, but I think God has done so much for me through animals that I didn't know where to begin. I am not finished with wanting to write about this, but it will come later.
Ruth, Thank you for keeping this going.
The light and the dark
ReplyDeleteI have two cats. They were my babies until I had babies. I know that sounds bad, but, I mean, I really spoiled them, which did a great disservice to their character. I even used a small period of unemployment to be a stay-at-home catmom. (long story short, the more time I spent with them, the more they were like, “You still here?? You gonna leave soon so that we can put hair on your pillow and barf in your slippers?” Why aren’t there more SAHCMs? Mystery solved.
My husband and I got our first cat about 1 ½ years after we got married. It was beautiful: all sleek black with green eyes. I chose the name Bijoux (French for “jewels”) and kept it indoors like we promised the Humane Society, where we got her. I think I even had to raise my right hand when I promised it. One day, Bijoux was let outside. Just on the deck, for an afternoon, and she was hooked. The only problem was that she did not want to stay on the deck. She wanted to explore the world. From then on, she wanted to go outside. Really badly. This cat was and is incorrigible about it. Typically, if she wants something, she will literally not give up AT HER OWN LIFE’S PERIL to get it. She wants to go in your room while you’re sleeping so she meows for hours until she gets bored. She wants to go outside so she scoots right under your foot even though you can’t see her because you’re carrying groceries. She wants you to pet her – more endless meowing. Not pet her. Because you started, so you get an almost-bite (she mouths you, telling you that she COULD have bitten you if she had wanted to. Like giving you the cat version of the “gun show”. She wants to go up on the table and lick your water so that it smells like weird eggs when you go to drink it (so you know she’s been there). There Is. Hair. Everywhere. We have combed out hairballs that we could make other cats out of. She literally meows like: Meow. Meow. Meow. RIOW. WOWH. MOWA. Outside our door with volume if I don’t let her in to sleep on my head and baptize my pillow with hair, which doesn’t work for me because I have asthma. We didn’t consider all this a bad mix because we were so enamored with her. She was a diva. A cute spoiled little princess the way pictures of other people’s cute spoiled princesses are cute – until you meet them and they bap you in the face with their wand and scream at you for repeated ice cream installments into their grubby little hands.
Then one day, we decided to get another cat – Snowy. I saw her at a natural pet food store and she and some other kittens were just roaming around the store. Though at first I fell in love with a fluffier one (ever the sadomasochistic asthmatic), I jokingly called Jim to come over and see it and he actually did. We ended up with – not the fluffy one – a little white short haired cat with the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. Slightly crossed, but in a cute, ‘poor wittle me, I don’t know anything’ kind of way. We named her Snowy (Jim got to name the second cat, thus the normal name)and it turned out that she had been injured at the pet store. Someone may have accidentally stepped on her or something may have fallen on her. So she had to go to the vet right away for xrays and tests. I still get tears in my eyes when I listen to Dianne Reeves singing “Broadway Babies” because it was playing right after I got the news from the vet that we might have to consider putting this adorable little kitten down. All turned out OK, but she is still a bit fragile and doesn’t like to be picked up – though she is friendly in a shy way and is quite happy to have her head pet as long as you don’t pet anything else. Even though both cats were female (and spayed), they took an almost immediate liking to each other. Bijoux started grooming Snowy right away and enjoyed having a little fan club everywhere she went. Everything was perfect. (cont.)
(cont...) Except that Bijoux still wanted to go outside. She was/is this mix of smart/stupid. She wants what she wants and has creative ways to get it, but she will also risk everything to get it. Our house was small – 900 square feet – and it wasn’t enough room for her. Snowy on the other hand was perfectly happy to stay inside. She was the less-clever one, in a blonde stereotype kind of way, but she and I both knew that if she took one step outside – with her smaller-than average, fragile body and almost albino coloring, she wouldn’t last long. I always imagined a Dingo swooping down and snapping her up as a small tasty snack - even though Dingoes aren’t anywhere near the suburban Seattle area, but it would be just her luck. She had enough intuition to know that inside was best for her. We would get so mad at Bijoux when she tripped us in the act of shooting out the door to eat grass that she would only barf later. We tried to give her some potted indoor wheat grass to make her happy, but she didn’t care. She wanted the real stuff. And it wasn’t just the grass. It was all the stimulation from outside – the possibility of birdkill, bugkill, sunshine and control over her own life and destiny. She didn’t want to be a terrarium cat – sitting in the window, admired by passers-by and laughed at by ‘legitimate’ wildlife. Still, we promised the Humane Society, where we we got her from that we would never let her outside so that her life could be longer. I even tried to reason with Bijoux one day, “what do you want to be – happy and possibly dead? Or alive and miserable!!” We both were so conflicted.
ReplyDeleteThen we had kids. Oooh Nellie. You perhaps know how that goes. When I was pregnant, the cats loved to curl up under the covers beside my gigantic belly. Cats have extra-sensitive hearing, so perhaps they could hear something going on in there. However, once our first baby was born, as much as we never thought we would do this, our cats were demoted from our practice-children to bitter tenants that hate us. Once when I was carrying my infant in one of those huge carseat carriers, exiting out of my front door with also a huge baby bag, purse and the 50 other things a first-time mom takes with her on a journey to the local grocery store and Bijoux tried to shoot out under my foot. I almost dropped the baby, twisted my ankle and stepped on Bijoux. I was so livid that I yelled at my cat (which really does nothing but make the yeller look like a crazy jerk). Once my first child was mobile, her favorite thing was to pull, push, grab fur and poke Bijoux (again - showing uncharacteristic smarts, Snowy always stayed far away from the baby). Instead of running away or even biting or scratching, Bijoux just sat there and took it. Crazy! I tried to scoot her away, but she always immediately came back for more. It was maddening. I wanted to save Bijoux from getting tortured and my daughter from her inevitable scratch. Jim said that a scratch would teach Clara not to do it anymore and I would go with that – as long as he could promise me that it wasn’t a scratch in the eye.
Once when Jim was travelling and I was alone with my 1 year old and two cats for a week, I remember that by the end, tired and struggling, Bijoux tried to do her little trick and I came at her (to put her back in the house) with such a venom, that she actually hissed at me. I knew that I was getting to be a really bad catmom. Cats aren’t equal to a kid, but two cats together can equal a deadbeat roommate, just out of rehab who hates you.
Then we had another daughter. The transition from one baby to two is such a daily adrenalne rush – a ninja acrobatic freakshow of catching flying plates, doing tricks, taming lions, and making a sensible dinner and raising happy kids. (cont.)
(...cont) By then the cats were done with me. I had weaned them off of sleeping in my room completely but on random occasions, Bijoux would strut down the hall with a toy in her mouth (which makes her 1,000 times louder. Why??) calling out “Roaw! Roaiiiw!” at 2am. With my baby’s night feedings and all the other things you wake up for in the middle of the night with kids – fevers, barfs, nightmares, weird noises, etc. I couldn’t afford to be up all night wheezing because Ihad to be ready for “showtime” in the morning. The cats still got pet, fed, ‘watered’ and cared for, albeit definitely less petting than before but there was no patience for Bijoux’s special demands and Snowy got a little lost, arriving last in the attention line. It would have been easy to make Bijoux an outdoor cat, but I had made a promise and it came down to a battle of wills between me and my cat.
ReplyDeleteLuckily, we moved to a bigger house. We finally exploded out of our old one, hemorrhaging cheerios and Polly Pockets accessories. Bijoux was happier and didn’t try to go outside anymore, though the hair and cat smell in our house is finally getting to me – my asthma kept getting worse. However, it has made me more proactive about treating it, which I never did before.
I’m sure it sounds like I hate my cats. Many days, I do. However, I also love my cats. They are family. I don’t want to teach my girls (and myself) that you can leave family behind just because they become inconvenient. Some of my friends got rid of their cats after they had kids for many good reasons and they were, all of them, very kind and thoughtful about the arrangements that they made for the cats to live with other families. I do not, for a moment, compare our decisions. I could choose a nice little old lady who is ready for a beautiful cat diva and a beautiful sensitive cat that seems to be part mouse for company. Some days that idea is immensely attractive to me. Maybe at the core of it, I don’t want to admit that I can’t do it all – be a catmom and a kidmom. This arrangement SHOULD work out. I try to remind myself that Bijoux is God’s creature – that God is IN her (though manytimes it seems the opposite) and being kind to her is being kind to God. Snowy is easier to remember this about.
Here is how I have seen glimpses of God through my cats: forgiveness. That quiet look they give me when I screw up as a catmom. The way that they give my kids second chances after they’ve been manhandled. And the way that, when the kids are sick or I’m upset, they sit by my side, purring (sometimes), just being present with us and our feelings.
The kids love my cats and have finally – now that they’re over the age of two, developed a relationship with the cats. They know how to be with them and how to be gentile. It’s been a long, hard road, but now as I stay up, typing this at 1am my cat, Bijoux is purring next to my leg and I have renewed my old tradition of letting Snowy drink the remains of my milk from my cereal before I put the bowl in the sink. It’s hard having two kids and two cats.. However, I am stubborn in my love. I will not leave them. Chalk it up to the history of my name and, “wither thou goest”, but I will not leave them. I love them like family, which means that sometimes they get on my very last nerve, but family sticks together and makes it work.
What a story! I laughed til I cried!
ReplyDelete