Epsom Salts and Cat Urine

I’m sure you’ve already guessed that this is going to be a good one. And you’re not wrong.

As I previously mentioned, our cat Brave had kittens a few months ago. Adorable, curious, and playful, the kittens are a treat to have around. However, I don’t want to be the proud owner of eight cats, so we’ve been giving them to friends. And, to curb any future eight-cat possibilities, we scheduled an appointment for Brave to get spayed on Monday.

That’s how it all started.

Early Monday morning, we drove 45 minutes to bring Brave to the vet. On the way home we got gas, coffee, and donuts. When we got home, it turned into spring cleaning for the animals. We cleaned out Sunday’s crate and the cat bed, and washed the blankets. But our productivity screeched to a halt when Scout (our tomcat) came limping into the yard on three legs.

Whining grumpily, he sat down in the driveway. One of his back paws was swollen into a useless club. After a brief examination, discussion, and google search, we decided that epsom salts would be the best solution. We fed him copious amounts of food, prepared some warm epsom salt water, and put his back leg into the saltwater.

If you’ve never tried to put any part of an angry, injured tomcat into any type of water, I have two suggestions for you: First, just don’t. Second. Really, just don’t.

After an extended period of hissing, squirming, and caterwauling, he finally realized his efforts to escape were futile, and settled into Curtis’ arms, whining occasionally. We soaked his foot for at least 20 minutes, then put him in our big dog crate, planning to repeat the treatment later in the day.

We thought the exciting part of the day was over. Then we went to pick up Brave from the vet. When I paid and talked to the desk worker, she gave me what I assumed was just the customary warning.

“Brave could be a little nauseas from the sedative, so just be aware of that for your ride home, especially if it’s long.”

I carried the cat out and gave her to Curtis, telling him about her possible nausea. He held her on his lap, and the first half of the ride home was spent in comparative peace and comfort. The kitty slept, Curtis pet her, and I drove. About half way home, Brave woke up and started moving around, trying to situate herself more comfortably. Well, that’s what we thought she was doing.

But as she moved, suddenly Curtis started saying,

“Oh, oh. What’s the matter with our car?” Simultaneously, he looked at his lap. Then he groaned. Brave wasn’t just trying to get comfortable. She was peeing. All over his lap. By the time he fully realized what was happening, it was too late. His lap and the seat of the car were both soaked in cat urine. Hot, smelly cat urine.

At that moment, our plans for the evening changed drastically to include cleaning the seat—which has continued into the week with baking soda, vinegar, and hydrogen peroxide.

What did we learn from this? Life is a lot easier if you don’t have pets, but the stories are worth it.

Well, after the fact.

My First Rodeo

Last night we went to a rodeo. There wasn’t bull riding, but there was goat tying, pole bending, and barrel racing. Horse after horse charged into the arena, some skillfully guided by experienced riders, others barely directed by children who looked no older than five.

I was impressed by the courage of many of the riders who urged their horses to breakneck speeds through the soft arena sand around metal 50-gallon drums.

And I decided two things: horse people are super cool, and I probably will never be a horse person.

The event continued until long after dark, with over 60 riders competing in some of the events. Around 11 Curtis (he’s very wonderful) and I were getting ready to leave when a teenage girl came racing into the arena on a white horse. She sped around the barrels and exited the arena just as quickly as she entered. But as soon as she crossed through the gates, something went terribly wrong.

There was an audible collective gasp as her horse tripped on a mound of dirt in the dark and flipped—nose under tail—right on top of the girl. The announcer, announcing the girl’s time, took a second to realize what was happening.

“She’s down? Oh no. She’s not getting up? Is she up? Is she getting up?” Brief pause, then a gasp, and “Oh, Lord. *click*” Less than two seconds later, the announcer was running full tilt down the stairs and out to the corral.

At least 60 people were still at the rodeo. Some were on their horses, and many leaned against the brown wood arena fence. But as the 60 of us stood and waited, you could have heard a pin drop into the sand. Every single face was turned toward where the girl was lying on the ground, unresponsive. The wait dragged on.

And on.

And on.

Every face was somber, no one spoke. Finally, after what seemed like forever, a mom from our group came back with news.

“Knocked out cold, but now she’s awake. She remembers her name and knows where she is. The ambulance is on its way.”

Tangible relief spread as the news filtered through the small groups facing the prostrate girl. The murmur of quiet conversation picked up, as people started to share their own stories: “I took my daughter out of a rodeo once in an ambulance,” and “I left a horse show in an ambulance once.” Matter of fact. Solid. Sympathetic.

As people talked quietly, the announcer climbed back up into her booth and came over the speakers, sharing the news that the girl was talking and the ambulance was coming.

And then she said, “Let’s pray for her.”

People all around the arena removed their cowboy and baseball hats and bowed their heads, as she asked God with brief, sincere words to let the rider be okay and comfort her family. Prayer over, hats went back on and quiet conversation resumed. Eventually paramedics came to check her out, then she went to the hospital, just for a more thorough check up.

The barrel racing resumed, but with a slightly more somber air. Hundreds of pounds of horse is a lot to land under, even on soft corral dirt.

The Past Four Months

Sorry. It’s been awhile. I’d love to share some long, drawn-out story about how we went on a long voyage, got shipwrecked on an un-charted tropical island, and were stranded there for the entirety of the Michigan winter.

What actually happened is that life shifted into overdrive, and between the holidays, wrestling our house into submission, and lots of other things, writing time has been at an all-time low (excuses, excuses).

It feels unfair for me just to launch back into blogging without at least some sort of update, so here are some pictures to catch you up, before I start randomly saying things again.

A Wedding and a Funeral

In the past three weeks I attended a wedding and a funeral. Both couples loved each other deeply—one pair with starry-eyed passion, the other with the deep, steady commitment of more than 50 years together.

It’s remarkable what a different meaning wedding vows have at a funeral.

I, _____, take thee, _____, to be my wedded husband/wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward . . .

Wedding: I’m so glad I don’t have to say goodbye every night anymore, and now we can wake up together every morning.
Funeral: I spent every day of my life loving her, holding her, sacrificing for her. Now she’s gone..

. . . For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer . . .

Wedding: We don’t need money, we don’t need good times, all we need is love and each other.
Funeral: Remember back in the early years? When all we had in our tiny apartment was a bed, a bookshelf, and a footstool? We used to take turns sitting on the stool instead of the floor while we ate dinner. It wasn’t always easy—but in the end, even that small consistent sacrifice made us love each other more.

. . . In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish . . . *

Wedding: I’ll take care of him when he gets a cold, and we’ll watch movies together all day when we get the stomach bug.
Funeral: I took care of her through her pregnancies, decades of raising children, and menopause. I cared for her when she got sick, caught what she had, and still went to work so I could provide for her. And after all those years, I nursed her through an illness that made her forget who I was.

*In marriages that can pull for the long haul, I believe the following syntax and punctuation is a more accurate promise: To love and to cherish in sickness and in health. Cherishing a healthy person is easy—it’s when someone gets sick that the rubber of commitment really meets the road.

. . . Till death do us part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I pledge myself to you.

Wedding: I get to be with you forever.
Funeral: I will always have a memory of you here, and someday I’ll get to join you again in heaven. But for now, I’ve lost you.

It is an invaluable privilege to have a heritage of faithful marriages, and to hear someone reflect back on more than 50 years of marriage—both the golden years and the lean times—and say, “Yep. I would do it all again.”

In other unrelated news, 1) I almost got run over by a self-driving floor cleaner in Menards, 2) it snowed in Michigan, and 3) we’re trying hard to keep up the appearance that we don’t let our kitties walk all over us (but photographic evidence tells the real story).

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6 Types of High School Baseball Fans

One distinct delight of our Michigan life is attending high school football games. Even though I understand the sport better now than I ever have, watching the people in the stands still distracts me constantly. There are a few very specific types of attendees at high school football games:

The Mom: Every time her child is on the field, her engagement increases. Leaning forward, she holds her breath for the plays. If he gets tackled she doesn’t blink until he’s up.

The Old Guy: Alone and unbothered, he munches on concession treats and takes in the game with placid aplomb. Only a questionable call from the refs is enough to rattle his cool. Standing, he’ll shout and wave his arms.

The High School Crew: Decked out in team spirit, they walk up and down in front of the stands, more interested in seeing and being seen than in how the game is going.

The Younger Siblings: After countless hours spent at sporting events for older siblings, these may be the most savvy fans in the stands. They know when to hit concessions, the bathroom, and even the secret way to sneak under the bleachers and look for loose change. And if figuring out all that stuff gets boring, there’s always the game.

The girlfriend: Proud of her significant player, she comes to every game. Wearing her sweetheart’s jersey, she makes friendly comments to the people around her. After all, she’s never understood football.

The Dad: Caring for his other children occasionally distracts him, but most of the time he fixes an attentive gaze on the field. With every admirable move his son makes, he puffs up and looks around to make sure everyone else saw it too.

PS. This weekend at the grocery store, with arms full, I ran into the candy aisle for some gum. One moment, I was holding a box of cereal, a container of ice cream, a bag of marshmallows, a pint of blueberries, my wallet, my keys, and my phone. The next moment, I was holding all those items except for the pint of blueberries. It had tumbled from the stack in slow motion, hit the floor, and exploded. Blueberries went rolling everywhere. If I had any presence of mind, I would have taken a photo.

Instead, I just stood there and stared, hopelessly mortified.

PPS. I survived, but only after turning burning crimson and scooping up a hundred blueberries.

Investing in Groceries

Investing in what you’re doing doesn’t have to be expensive.

For instance, the cashier at a grocery store doesn’t need to buy stocks in the store to be invested. For him, investment is how he spends his day at the register. Each morning, he gets to choose. Will he fully engage with every customer, greeting them kindly, serving them eagerly, and making eye contact at the first greeting and the final word? Or, will he slip through the day, mumbling answers, avoiding looking people in the eye, and bagging groceries carelessly?

You get the choice to invest in what you’re doing, and you get to make it every morning. Investment may not yield instant gratification—but when you invest, people notice. Over time, the cashier who shows up and engages will go much further in the game than the one who brings his body to work without his heart.

Making the choice to invest isn’t always easy. But it’s always worth it.

16 Unrelated Thoughts on Biking

During this beautiful Michigan summer of transition, Curtis (he’s very wonderful) and I bought a house that’s 14 miles away from my job. Our house is also conveniently located near a bike trail, so every day I ride my bike to work.

After more than a month of almost 30 miles a day on my swift red bike, I’ve learned a few lessons:

  1. Riding to work is somehow always slower than riding home.

  2. On-time arrival isn’t accomplished by sporadic spurts of speed—it’s earned through steady, continuous pedaling.

  3. There is such a thing as having sore, tired thighs all the time.

  4. Skunks don’t spray humans every time they see them, contrary to what kids books and the media want us to believe.

  5. If you think being chased by a bear is a good speed motivator, try attempting to out-bike a thunderstorm.

  6. Deer aren’t exactly the smartest animals, but they can certainly jump.

  7. If you call out to cows, they will look at you.

  8. Riding four miles on a flat tire is not a good idea.

  9. Biking in 45 degrees without gloves on will make your hands very, very cold.

  10. Greasing your chain makes a major difference not only in ease of pedaling, but also in rattling and squeaking.

  11. Some cars are gracious and pass with a wide berth. Others are less so, and pass a lot closer.

  12. Traveling down a mist-covered path isn’t quite as eerie as it is in movies . . . but it’s close.

  13. Skinny road bike tires + gravel roads = lots of fishtailing.

  14. Bikes are great conversation starters.

  15. Every time I pass anyone else on a bike, I always say, “It’s a great day for a ride, isn’t it?” Once past, I laugh because they don’t know the secret truth: it’s always a great day for a ride.

  16. Biking is easily the best part of every day (besides being with Curtis). Nothing compares to the cheery expectation of miles of smooth path on a sunny afternoon.

If you’ve never ridden your bike to work, give it a shot sometime. If you don’t own a bike, I’m so sorry. If you never learned how to ride a bike, come to my house and I will teach you and we’ll go on an adventure and get ICE CREAM.

All in all, it’s not a bad way to start the day.

All in all, it’s not a bad way to start the day.

You’d be amazed how many people stop and talk about biking when they see a bike. It’s almost the equivalent of walking a dog or a baby. Almost.

You’d be amazed how many people stop and talk about biking when they see a bike. It’s almost the equivalent of walking a dog or a baby. Almost.

Biking in northern Michigan poses slightly different road hazards than biking in downtown Chicago . . .

Biking in northern Michigan poses slightly different road hazards than biking in downtown Chicago . . .

5 Disjointed Thoughts on Life Transition

Stepping into transition is like standing on the edge of the pool deck thinking about jumping into the pool, when suddenly your well-meaning but somewhat misguided friend shoves you into the water. It always seems to come before you’ve quite prepared yourself.

Living through change is like going on a run and never quite being able to catch your breath.

Preparing for the future is like planning a birthday party with a guest list of 200, but not asking for any RSVPs.

Leaving one place for the next is unsettling—but not bad. We’re just creatures of habit who take comfort in familiarity, and new places are habit-breaking and very unfamiliar.

Concentrating on personal growth, health, and development in the middle of a hectic season is like trying to change the oil in a hail storm. Not impossible, just distracting and somewhat difficult.

I Should Try

Childhood is full of learning new things. Babies learn to crawl, then walk, then run. Toddlers become potty-trained, feed themselves, and discover how to put on pants. Before long in elementary school, kids learn adding, subtracting, and how to get along with other kids on the playground.

Every experience of growing up is punctuated by awe. It’s thrilling to learn how to tie your shoes, because “they” tie their shoes (who they? the big people). Each skill acquired is a step toward independence, even though kids don’t think of it that way. Their natural bent is simply curiosity and the willingness to discover (spend thirty minutes with a five-year-old and count how many times they ask, Why ?).

But somewhere along the way, it’s easy to lose the hunger to learn. We become confident in our abilities. Admitting we don’t know something is a chink in our armor rather than an opportunity. But what if, instead of a threat, every new thing you didn’t know became an opportunity?

There are two distinct mindsets involved in learning. Either, you come to a new experience, and think:

I probably can’t do that. Oh well.

Or, you venture into something new, thinking:

I wonder if I can do that. I should try.

It takes humility, confidence, and the willingness to accept that you may fail the first time—or the first five times. But if you never try anything, then you never learn anything. And that’s way worse.