He'll Be The First To Tell You

I've known my husband for thirty-seven years.

I've been married to him for thirty-one

of those years.

I've no doubt used lots of words over those years

to describe him.

I have a new word I've been using...

a lot.

Resilient.

You might not think of that as being 

anything special...

to be resilient.

But I do.

You might not even think there's any reason

why I should be telling you 

about his resiliency.

But there is.

I've learned a lot from him this past year and a half -

a year that he unabashedly will tell you

has not been easy.

He would say there were moments he mourned,

short-lived moments when he panicked,

and even a few bad days out of that year and a half,

when he saw that cup as empty.

 But that's about as far as he will go.

More likely he'll tell you how he prefers to 

see the cup as

half full.

Or that there's nothing he can do to change things,

so best to move on..full throttle.

He'll tell you that he believes in Someone

who he knows is in charge of his life

and trusts Him,

through the good and the bad.

 He will still laugh with you, 

laugh at you,

and laugh about you...

all the while bouncing back

minute by minute, day by day.

He will most assuredly prefer to deal with today

and then move on to tomorrow.
For his tomorrow brings hope...

a hope that is attainable and full of promise.

Because he's resilient.
And he's teaching me to be more like him.

God, help me to be more like him.

I love you, Sweetheart.

I am so proud to call you husband.
 

re·sil·ient   adj \ri-ˈzil-yənt

  

1.  springing back; rebounding.

2.  returning to the original form or position after being bent, compressed, or stretched.

3. recovering readily from illness, depression, adversity, or the like; buoyant.

 

Fifteen Shades of Cool

It's hot here in Oklahoma.

Summer started out that way

and has continued to dish it out...

every day.

Today 

I choose to think about...

snow-skiing,

cool rain showers,

crisp autumn days-

sweater weather,

ice cream,

goose bumps,

swimming pools,

Icees,

frost on the windows,

Christmas,

late-season football,

WInter Olympics,

Old Man Winter,

snow days, 

 lime ices,

and

 whoever invented air-conditioning.

CatDog

Let me tell you a story about Bob,

the cat...

who thinks he's a dog.

Bob, a Manx, showed up at my parents one day

at just the right time.

He may have belonged to someone

because he wasn't skinny or malnourished, 
but I like to think he was just a good hunter.
Or that he didn't like his old home.

They didn't encourage him to hang around.

But they noticed him

each day, returning to their back patio.

And scouting around, like

outdoor cats do.

I say it was just the right time

because even though my dad

likes cats,

he always said he didn't want another one,
after his last cat died.

He's had a few grandcats, 
here and there to play with, 
but not one to call his own.

He needed Bob 

as much as Bob

needed him.

Or so I like to believe.

My mom decided that if that cat 

was going to hang around so much,

he wasn't going to go hungry.

They'd have to feed it.

With no cat food in the pantry,

Dad decided to give Bob the cat 

some sardines.

My Dad loves sardines,

as apparently Bob did too.

I'm pretty sure that was the 

defining moment 

for Bob.

From then on,

Bob showed up day after day,

ready for some food and some special 

attention.

Now, here's where it gets interesting.

Bob isn't just any old ordinary Manx,

tail-less, orange cat.

He thinks he's a dog.

My dad would ring the back porch bell,

and Bob would come running.

Sometimes Dad would whistle instead.

Bob sprung onto the porch each time.

He had no interest in coming inside the house.

I don't think Mom and Dad had any interest in him

coming in either.

They knew that if he came in,

he'd probably become their cat.

Permanently.

They hadn't gone looking for a cat anymore

than Bob was looking for a home.

It just happened.

 We've always teased my dad because he

does weird things with his grandcats.

He talks to them.

Actually he asks them questions.

Like, 

"How are you doing today, kitty?

Huh? How are you?

How you doing kitty?"

I'm pretty sure he knows that cats don't talk.

but couldn't swear to it.

He also pets them hard like a dog.

And they seem to like it.

He sometimes gets his broom

and "brushes" them.

Yes, it seems a little strange.

But they always like it.

When Mom and Dad decided to finally

start opening the back door to see if

he wanted to come in, 

and get out of the cold,
('cause see, they worried about that cat,)

he would come up to the threshold, 

but never over it.

Dad says sometimes he would kind of 

crouch, like maybe he had been

kicked out of the house a few 

times...literally.

As time went by, he'd come in a little further

each time, until he finally

felt safe enough to walk on in.

That's when the mutual love affair 

between a cat and his two people 

truly began.

Bob was an outdoor cat at heart.

He meowed to go out each evening.

Then by morning, he'd

show up at the back door,

ready to come inside and 

eat, sit on my dad's easy chair,

and sleep.

He gradually started lengthening his 

indoor time, until he was 

spending the night indoors most nights.

Remember now,

 Bob the cat

thinks he's a dog.

He doesn't use a cat box.

He meows at Mom to go outside,

and waits for her by the door.

He follows my dad around like a dog -

sits and waits for him to come out

of the bathroom,

walks with him to the mailbox.

walks with him to the edge of the yard 

while Dad visits with his neighbor

across the street.  

Bob won't go all the way with him because he's 

not too fond of his nemesis there...

a real dog.

Tonight after being with Bob 
and the family,
I'm feeling a little happy inside.
Happy that Bob, an old stray Manx,
and Dad, my old man...
(I say that lovingly with all my heart)
found a special unexpected
friendship
in each other -
Dad
and the catdog.

Remember that cartoon and song
from Nickelodeon?

photo courtesy of Yahoo