And no thanks do I get
for thirty years in medicine
for thirty years of rural work
for working alone without a net
not a whisper from officials
The thanks I get are on the street
in the shops, at live music
at Gallery Walk, at thrift stores
walking through town, from friends
from patients or spouses or mothers or fathers
who thank me and update me
Thank you, Beloved, for my odd career
for leading me rural, leading me to primary care
endless learning daily and people
they are all interesting, all different
all have depths that none would guess
all of your beautiful people, Beloved
This is one of those poems where I started grumpy and did not know where it was going until it went there. The light at the end of the tunnel photograph is on the Metro in Washington, DC last week.
New Year’s Eve was a travel day for me, flying from Dulles to SeaTac. This time my checked bag came along and did not divert to party in Chicago, as it did on the trip out. I had a wonderful two weeks in Arlington, Virginia and Rockville, MD with old friends and my son and daughter-in-law and daughter. Very kind friends picked me up at SeaTac and drove me the two hours home. I slept for three hours on the plane and another hour in the car. The pair of socks on yesterday’s Ragtag is for one of the two people who picked me up.
The plane was about 40 minutes early and the airport was impressively empty. There was some traffic on I5, but it was not crazy. There was quite a bit of fog all the way home.
Yesterday morning we went to the climbing gym for the second time in the two weeks. I had not climbed in maybe three years? And I have never done a lot.
The rest of my family climbs like squirrels and spiders. I currently climb more like a panicked sloth, but I did a 5, a 5.6 and a 5.7 the first day. Yesterday I planned to take it easy, but I roped up for one and it was the wrong one, so I tried a 5.8. My family was clambering up 5.11s. Whew. It was really fun and loads of fun to watch them. And hurrah that I can climb some after Long Covid and two years with unhappy muscles!
This is the first time I have managed to photograph one of the cats doing “Cat Art”. Sol Duc. I have two bowls for the cats, with a smaller bowl inside a water barrier bowl. I shut the door between the two when I feed them, because Elwha will eat all his and then bully Sol Duc. He outweighs her by five pounds. When I started limiting their food, they started decorating Elwha’s bowl. With toys. There are often toy mice, that pair of in ear headphones that I’ve given up on, a sponge, tissue paper when they can get it, as many as four different things in the bowls. I have to wash the outer bowl and toys often.
Is this play? It started when Elwha was overweight and I started measuring their food. All of my other cats have been self-regulating about food, but Elwha and Sol Duc were very starved tiny kittens when I got them and Elwha is the first male cat I’ve ever had. Art? Trying to trade toys for more food? I tried reading about it and found that cats will bury their food. Sometimes the art shows up when the bowl is not empty.
This is the first one with tissue paper:
This was the first use of a sponge:
I think this is a particularly fine installation and sophisticated use of tissue paper as well as the toy creature, headphones, and the combination flashlight/whistle.
I hope it is play. It certainly entertains me. I wondered which cat was doing it but I think it is both. It is almost always Elwha’s bowl, though, not Sol Ducs. The mysterious plays of cats.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
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