Matty Phurr

We're feeding a stray cat in the front yard. He (Matthew Phurr, called Matty) and I have worked out a routine. Early mornings, when I look out, he's there, crouched under an azalea bush by a large oak. I get some fresh water in a glass and the bag of cat food and go out. He retreats. I leave my offerings in bowls near the tree and back away respectfully into the house. Sometimes he's joined by a black cat with a tail that veers to her left. My neighbor three doors down, Adele, and her daughter Ellen are animal softies , too. They befriended the black cat and took her to be spayed, and then released her. But now they have another female and four kittens living in the woods behind their house. Matty is a bedraggled soul, with what seems to be an eye infection and one ear, his right, that has healed badly from an injury. This morning while he was eating, I crept around and got a picture. I hope he and I will become close enough friends that I can betray his trust and trap him to take him to the vet for an alteration and maybe some antibiotics for those eyes.

The Hardest Thing

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, "Let it be." And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, "Let it be." And when the brokenhearted people living in the world agree, there will be an answer: Let it be. For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see. There will be an answer: Let it be. Let it be, let it be. There will be an answer: Let it be. And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow. Let it be. I wake up to the sound of music. Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, "Let it be. Let it be, let it be." There will be an answer: Let it be. Let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom: "Let it be." (McCartney) As I lay awake last night, this song kept running through my head. The gospel reading at church yesterday morning contained the words, "Peace. Be still." The words are more than advice. They are a directive, and one I have struggled with for years. Worry is perhaps my greatest sin. I live as though by worrying I can change the outcome of the future, when it should be by now so painfully obvious to me that I can't! "Take no thought for tomorrow" probably was not meant to keep me from planning meals ahead and writing appointments on my calendar, but instead to give me the assurance I need in difficult times that there WILL be an answer. Let it be, Laura. Let it be.

How shall I know...

unless I go, to Cairo and Cathay, whether or not this blessed spot is blest in every way? Now it may be, the flower for me is this beneath my nose: How shall I tell, unless I smell the Carthaginian rose? The fabric of my faithful love no power shall dim or ravel whilst I stay here, -- but oh, my dear, if I should ever travel! (Millay) I've had the good fortune to travel in the last few years, seeing places I've dreamed of seeing since childhood. With each there's been the delight of recognition, as of meeting a pen pal("You look just like your pictures!") coupled with an inward--and embarrassed--disappointment. ("But I thought you'd be taller, and your teeth are so crooked.") The pyramids and the Sphinx were as grand as I'd imagined. (But there were so many people! Hard to get a picture without including other sightseers. And, oh, the pitiful scrawny dogs and the intimidating vendors: "one dolla, one dolla!")

So much fluff!

An AOL headline this morning directed me to an article about--of all things--Fluffernutters. Seems a Massachusetts state senator was unhappy to find out that his son's elementary school was serving Fluffernutters to the students. He called for a halt to such sugary, nonnutricious sandwiches, made of Marshmallow Fluff and peanut butter. Not to be outdone, a state representative proposed a bill naming Fluffernutter as the state sandwich. Seems the Fluffy Stuff is made locally, in Lynn, Mass. The article informed me that a two-tablespoon serving of Fluff is 60 calories. (By the way, while at the grocery store, I checked a jar of a marshmallow spread product to find that, unlike marshmallows, it has no gelatin involved and is kosher even for vegans.) By comparison, the same serving of jelly, which is the usual companion of peanut butter in a sandwich, has about 100 calories, and honey, another possibility, has nearly 130. Of course, you could always opt for a banana!

Father's Day...some belated thoughts

I never knew either of my grandfathers. They both died when my parents were children. They are men of myth to me. One, Jim, so I was told, died a hero's death, sacrificing his life for that of a black man in an accident in which the handcar he was on tipped. He shouted for the other man to jump free and was himself crushed, leaving a wife and three small boys. The other, Ed, a talented musician and jeweller, died a drunk and was buried in a potter's field in Key West, leaving a wife and a son and daughter. So my father grew up without the example of what a good father could be, and I grew up with an emotionally distant man who never hugged me and never praised me. My children's father Bob had a poor example of a man to learn from: his father was married four times, and Bob was shuffled between stepmothers, a grandmother and boarding schools, never quite belonging to a family. And then there was John, my second husband, whose father was a cruel and abusive man. ...Small wonder then, that on Father's Day, I feel grief for all the might-have-beens---the father-child relationships that never blossomed and grew.

Tom's birthday, June 17th

Just another Saturday in Georgia. I've backed myself into a blog of my own, grazing the occasional fender in the backing process...something I was never very good at doing--backing, I mean. From where I'm sitting, the world is green and a very bright blue, as the sun catches the hydrangeas. Here's Tom giving William the very last drop of beer in the bottle.