Holidays

It has been a strange holiday break, these last two weeks. As always, school requirements have been on the agenda all the way through - thinking, planning, preparing. But other themes have dominated - grief from the loss of a dear friend of over thirty years. Other friendships have waxed and waned over this time, as friendships often do, but this was a special, steady one. So many, many cups of tea, glasses of wine and comfortable conversations, just the two of us in her kitchen 'putting the world to rights'. I will miss her dearly.

In younger, plumper times.

Then worry over Millie as she failed to respond to the effects of her operation and the twice daily delivery of anti-biotics into her weak and wasting body. Despite her condition, she could put up a considerable fight to avoid her medication. Thankfully we are through that at last, though I don't feel she is yet fully on the path to recovery and still not eating enough to properly sustain her.

Lovely vets. 

Whenever I hear people complaining about the eighty dollars they paid to see the after hours doctor, or bemoaning the ten dollars they were charged to collect a prescription, I know at once they are not pet owners. Those with animals understand the real cost of matters medical when the costs are not subsidised in any way. While I don't begrudge a cent of it, the unexpected costs of well over one thousand dollars for Millie's treatments have made this break a challenging one in budgeting terms, too.

Roll on pay day.

And then there was the shake. It felt big, but the media delight in reminding us it wasn't 'the big one' as such and much worse could come at any time. Friends seem disappointed it didn't generate at least a wee tsunami to prove my folly in choosing to live in Petone.

But I wouldn't swap living in Petone. As I strolled along the beach this afternoon to enjoy a movie at The Lighthouse, I mused over the events of these last two weeks. Though they haven't been the best of weeks, there have been some lovely times with special people sprinkled throughout. Today the sun was out, the water sparkled and the air was salty fresh. I can't believe how lucky I am to live in such a wonderful, uplifting place. Since I have moved here, it feels like I'm on holiday every time I reach home and see the harbour. Life is good - and in nine weeks there's another break!

Everything Old is New Again

Fifty is the new thirty, and brown is the new black, according to the media. Well I have another one. Here, on my wooden floors, sweeping is the new vacuuming. In the time it would take me to get the vacuum cleaner out and all connected up, I can sweep up all the floors with an old-fashioned broom. It's so much more satisfying, every bit as effective and seems much more in keeping with the spirit of my 1920s home. Today I added a very nice wee sewing table to my oak furniture collection. The place is looking pleasingly cluttered with 'age-appropriate' pieces. A friend recently said that entering my home was like stepping into a museum. I rather like that idea.

You Don't See Fat People in Rest Homes

That's what the vet said to me yesterday evening as I sought reassurance that Millie's recent weight loss and lack of apetite could be remedied by her skills and knowledge. Millie's old, and that's the way it is no matter what the prognosis turns out to be. I know this is true, because I visited a friend in a rest home just this past weekend. You don't see fat people. You do see sad people, angry people, confused people, overwhelmingly bewildered people and those with a clear sense of abandonment and desperation. There may have been a few accepting and content people there too, but I didn't see any on my visit. I left feeling helpless and sad. The same way I felt when I got home yesterday and faced the fact Millie isn't getting better on her own. It was a ghastly wet and rainy night, but I managed to get an appointment so off we set. We had to wait for a dog and two budgies to be seen. The vet was a lovely lady who understood Millie's high anxiety and didn't want to proceed with taking blood or a fuller physical examination until Millie could be sedated.

Waiting for the call.

I could drop her off today, and they would proceed with the tests under anesthetic  Leave her? On her own? I explained that Millie was a rescue cat, she had been abandoned in the past. She might think I wasn't coming back. Could I stay with her? Apparently no-one has ever requested this before, but they have been very understanding. They will ring just before they can fit her in and I will hold her paw, so to speak, until she is under the influence of the first anesthetic gas. She will be frightened, but she will not be alone and she will not have the look of abandonment I saw in my friend's eyes on Saturday. 

“The little furry buggers are just deep, deep wells you throw all your emotions into.” ~Bruce Schimmel