Chincoteague Calling

I wish I could convey the yearning I feel each time I think of the Eastern Shore of Virginia.  The Teaguers used to say that a person "had Chincoteague sand in their shoes" if they kept returning to the island and ended up moving there.  I wasn't born on the island, but my Mother was, and her family ancestors have lived there since the mid-1600s.  Chincoteague was always my place to escape - and still is.  I'm sitting at my desk, gazing westward out my window and seeing the Front Range of the Rocky Mountains, the foothills and Flatirons of Boulder.  I see beauty in them, and their rugged graciousness, but I don't feel the compelling (almost tidal) pull that I feel when thinking about, or looking at photos of, Chincoteague and Assateague Islands.  Island friends and family say that I have Chincoteague sand in my heart and soul.  I guess I do.
  Boulder, Colorado is a wonderful place.  I love my clients as an extended family, and I love all the critters I care for as if they were/are mine.  While in Boulder, and it's surrounds, I have come into contact with wildlife that I haven't experienced "up close and personal" before - but that also happened when my husband and I lived in Crows, Virginia.  I had my first experiences with groundhogs there.  Each place I have lived has allowed me insights to the natural world - walking into the back yard and finding a mountain lion crouched over a freshly killed deer,  watching groundhogs raid the vegetable garden, seeing bobcats and bears mark the trees in their territories.  I learn from each of these experiences.  I look up information on whatever weird questions pop into my mind regarding an animals' behavior.
   Mom and Dad told me to never stop questioning.  I don't think I have.  One of my biggest questions is, why do I have this compulsion to return to Chincoteague and Assateague?  Yes, my maternal family has lived there for over 350 years.  They were watermen and farmers.  Do I get all this yearning for the islands as an ancestral need or memory?  I love to hear the skree sound of a hunting hawk or eagle, but my heart bubbles with joy when I hear the cacophony of a flock of sea gulls squabbling over fish offal, or emptied clam and oyster shells.  All I know is that I want to smell the odors of the sea, of the salt marsh and hear the cries of sea-faring birds and hear the surf on the shore.  I can be happy in a forest, I can be happy in the mountains, I can be happy in a museum or reading history, I can be happy exploring another country and their culture - but I am only truly joyful on two islands off the coast of Virginia, in the Atlantic Ocean.  There is my home.

Much Better

I think that I've dealt with my "hurt" phase and am ready to carry on, as usual.  Lovey is sitting at my elbow and keeps nudging my chin with her jaw, nose, and forehead.  I know that she's marking me with scent, but I still find it endearing - especially since Lyra slept with me last night, and I'm sure that her scent is also on me.  I have the back door open and both kits just ran outside - I didn't hear anything, but their hearing is definitely much better than mine.  We had temperatures in the upper 80s for the last two days, and that's the forecast for today.  Afternoon showers are being prognosticated for the next week, beginning tomorrow.
   I have another wonderful day of college football tomorrow - the only problem is that Hawaii and Colorado kick off (here in Boulder) at 2, just a half-hour after the Florida Gators and the Alabama Crimson Tide begin their game....  Then a 5:30 kick-off for South Carolina and Vanderbilt...  And, of course, Sunday will give us a Super Bowl rematch with the Broncos at the Seattle Seahawks.
  I will buy a couple of lottery tickets today - the Mega Millions game is at $72 million and Powerball is at $196 million...  I won't waste a lot of money, but I will buy a couple for each drawing.  If I won either lottery, I'd be moving back to the east coast in a heart beat!
  Right now I need to call my psychiatrist's office to see if I can snag an appointment for today.  The group has been using this weird set-up for over a year, and I complain about it each time I have to "run the gauntlet."  Apparently, in the past, more than half of the scheduled appointments never appeared - I've never missed an appointment, myself.  The system is being changed, yet again, on 6 October of this year; I hope the new one works better than this one.  I used to book my next appointment when I left the office, having just seen the doctor. - OK - I called the office at 8:00 and was on hold at until 8:10; I was told, again, that there were no appointments available. Now I'm angry, and I wanted to be calm and happy today - *Sigh*-  My shrink has office hours on Thursday and Friday only, and he also takes vacations and is frequently available only one day a week. You can not set up an appointment in advance.  You have to set it up on the day that you call in, either Thursday, or Friday, and, if you're lucky, you have two times offered to you.  This is my fifth week of calling, and I will be out of medication next weekend.  Grrrrrrrrr!

Feeling Squashed

  Perhaps this is my mental illness speaking - or, at least, coming to the fore - but I'm feeling squashed, a bit.  I know that I'm the "odd woman out."  I'm a widow, with only a single sister (and her two children) and cousins as blood relatives; I work with animals because I prefer them to people, and I consider my two cats my children; my sister's husband's family, the Snows, have taken me under their wings, invited me to most family gatherings, and assured me that they are now "my family."  So why, has absolutely no one, including my sister, niece and nephew, contacted me since the death of Kent Snow?  Kent was the youngest of the six Snow siblings, and I have very fond memories of him - he passed away last week, at the age of 49.  The family has been crushed, as Kent was the youngest, and their Mother died before he was a year old, so the older siblings stood in as surrogate mothers.  I understand how they feel.  I went through that myself when my husband died.
  On Sunday night, the 7th, I spoke with my sister on the telephone.  It was the beginning of my one week of vacation - and I was looking forward to staying at home with my cats and sleeping in my own bed.  That Sunday night, Kathy told me that she, her husband Jim, and Jim's step-mother, Grandma Anne, were leaving at 8 a.m. on Monday (the 8th), to drive up and see Kent in South Dakota.  They would spend Monday evening, all day and night Tuesday, and Wednesday morning with Kent and his family before returning to Boulder.  Ken was in the hospital, still dealing with the after-effects of a second brain tumor removal surgery.  Kathy and Jim had arranged for the nest-door neighbor to pick up the mail and the newspaper each day.
   Monday evening, I saw a Facebook post from Kent's daughter, Karissa.  It implied that Kent had died and was looking down from heaven at the family.  I was shocked and surprised.  I checked my phone and e-mail messages, but there was nothing.  After about an hour, I called Connie, Kathy and Jim's neighbor, and let her know that, apparently, Kent had died.   I then called Enterprise Car Rentals, and arranged to have a car on hold for traveling to South Dakota, and transporting, possibly, Mike and Erin, as they have no car, either.  I then started making lists of all the things that Vanessa would have to deal with, remembering what happened when Jeffrey had died.  Still no phone call or e-mail message.  I had thought my sister would call, or word would be passed on via my niece or nephew.
   On Friday, when I had still not been contacted by anyone, I tore up the lists and cancelled the car rental.  On Sunday, I finally "Googled" Kent's name, and found his obituary - his Memorial Service had been held Friday evening, and his burial service, with full military honors, had taken place on Saturday.  I still had not been contacted by anyone, in any form, about Kent's death.
   Monday morning, bright and early, I moved back into Tessa's house - five doors away from Kathy and Jim's.  It was also Jim's 71st birthday - so I attached his birthday card to his front door, checking that their car was in the driveway, on my way to walk doggies.  We normally get together for supper to celebrate Jim's birthday.  Receiving no information, I just went on with my normal house-sitting routine.  At 5:30, Rosie's owner called and said that Jim had left a message at her house, asking me to call him.  I called and left a message on the home phone, stating where I was staying, and leaving contact numbers at 5:35.  I called again at 8:30, and actually spoke to Jim; he said they were eating and he'd call me back immediately.  I went to bed at 11, still waiting for a call.
  Yesterday evening, I called at 7:45 and spoke with Kathy.  I told her that I felt hurt because no one had called or even e-mailed me to inform me of Kent's demise.  She said they were tired and busy when Kent died, and she was sorry.  Period.  Ten minutes later, she called me to say that a Bones episode was happening on Assateague Island - I asked if it was about buried treasure, and when she said yes, I told her the episode was at least 5 years old, and that Hollywood's version of Assateague was Santa Catalina, and that Assateague had mountains on it...  She said that she just wanted me to be aware of the episode.  I thanked her and she went to watch the show.
   Is it just me? Do I have a real basis for feeling hurt? I know that I feel hurt, and that I'm angry with myself for letting myself feel hurt...  It's stupid.  It's paradoxical.  It's how I feel.

Fences

I had planned on blogging yesterday, but didn't get around to it.  The kits and I had breakfast early, and then I headed over to Rosie's for the weekend.  We said good-bye to her owners, and after they had been gone 15 minutes, we took a short walk.  We took a longer walk close to noon, but stayed pretty much in the neighborhood.  Then I had lunch with Carol and Beatrice at Mimi's Cafe - the food was excellent, as usual, but the service was not up to the restaurant's normal standard.  Afterward, Bea went home with me to Rosie's house, and we watched Cars  and Cars II - and I laughed like an idiot.  I hadn't seen the movies before and found them delightful.
   The surprising thing that happened last night was that it started snowing around 8 p.m., and was still snowing at 10, when I crawled into bed with Rosie.  We ended up with about an inch on the ground - and most road surfaces were clear this morning, except a few, where there was a layer of ice.  I've returned home to visit with, and care for, my kits, and I see, without surprise, that our fence is still down.
  It's strange how secure that privacy fence made me feel.  I know that some of the boards are rotten; I know it would be very easy to remove a couple of boards from the fence and make a large gap; I know that the chain link fence is either end of the back yard is easily scalable; and I know that I can easily wiggle under the locked gate at the north end of the yard.  I guess that now, since anyone can just walk across the fallen fence and into the back yard, that it's normal to feel a little less safe.  That's why I find this so interesting... The fences that are there are easy to get around, under, or over.  So why does having these two fence panels down make me feel so vulnerable?  Because the parking lot on the other side of the fence sees a lot of traffic?  Because the sidewalk that the fence hides connects with the Boulder Creek Pathway, and sees a lot of foot and bicycle traffic? Or is it because we have a lot more transient people and the homeless in our neighborhood because of the new liquor store that has opened less than a half-block away?  With the fence up, and separating me from the world, I had no problems leaving my curtains open, to get sunshine and warmth inside.  Now, I worry about who might look inside, so the curtains are closed the entire time I'm not at home, or not awake.  Of course, it doesn't help that my "wall" between the patio and inside the apartment is nothing but plate glass and screening, with a few aluminum struts....
   So why does having the fence down make me feel so insecure? -  And since the fence went down, one of the cats stays on guard, looking out into the back yard, while the other one sleeps.  It's almost as if they've set up a guard duty station - so I guess I'm not the only one who doesn't feel 100% secure any longer....