I have a small menagerie of pets. 3 cats 1 dog. All brought into this house by my daughter. So every morning, starting from 3:30 a.m. on, they begin to bug ME – not their owner, but the owner’s Mom – to feed them. One cat who is over 20 literally wails… cries very loud… until I get up and satisfy her urge to have 3 bites. The newest cat wears a bell and is a bit beefy. He runs back and forth across my bed, up on to the window sill, back across my bed, jingling all the way until I get up at which point, he follows me and winds around my feet. The third cat just hangs. I love the third cat.
The dog nudges. If any part of me is hanging off the edge of the bed, she nudges it. Or she licks it. If I am all tucked in, no parts hanging, she paws at the edge of the bed until I get up and let her out and then let her back in and feed her.
Now truth be told, I love all these animals. But I hate getting up at 3:30 or 4 a.m. just to feed them. I’m retired. I threw my alarm clock away. I still have to get up. If I don’t do it, no one else will. I am still the mother.
For mother’s day, my one request was to be able to sleep in, uninterrupted. When asked what I wanted, I just said a day off. I don’t want to feed pets early in the morning, I don’t want to do dishes, I just want a day off from the routine that I cannot otherwise escape.
It did not happen. My crying cat cried louder than ever. I kept waiting for someone to give me my Mother’s Day gift. I ended up getting up just to shut the pets up, let the dog out, blah, blah, blah. This pissed me off. Made me feel unloved and even more taken for granted than usual. I got loud about it and finally someone else got up, AFTER I was already up, and said Oh, I’ll get it! REALLY???? Too late… the whole purpose was to keep sleeping… to not have to get out of my bed… to feel pampered and to be appreciated for what I do every other morning of the year. I went back to bed, purpose defeated, and feeling mean and unappreciated.
And as I lay in my bed, trying to get my dreams back, I realized if I died right now, right here in this bed, I would die mean. There would be no love at all for those who promised me a day off and did not deliver. This thought haunts me. Some years ago, I had an NDE after surgery wherein I learned the only thing you can take with you when you go is the love you’ve given. I totally believe this. Now I have to live it, even more so than I thought I was.
It’s hard to find an ugly spot on your soul.
Yesterday I found a lot of pennies. My mother taught me “find a penny, pick it up, all the day, you’ll have good luck.” Then there are pennies from heaven. Found pennies, are pennies from heaven. Head’s up pennies are good luck. If the penny you find is not head’s up, turn it over and leave it where you found it, so the next person who finds it gets good luck. I always pick a penny up. I know people who think it is beneath them to do so. It’s JUST a penny, they say. There are lots of attitudes that surround a renegade penny. A penny that has escaped someone’s grasp, someone’s pocket. Anyways, I wondered why I found so many pennies yesterday. Six of them. All different places and times of day. No two together. I wonder what could it mean? Or is it meaningful at all?
I think too much and about the oddest things.