Cat nap: Slice of Life 29/31 #SOL20

I am sitting in my bedroom trying to take advantage of some quiet focused time to write. Our internet connection is flickering in and out, and I’m not getting much done. Frustrated, I look up and catch sight of a minor miracle: our two cats are sleeping together.

Tippy and Hera are each, individually, wonderful cats, and I like to tell myself that they are secretly fond of each other, but I’m not 100% sure that they agree. I’m not even 50% sure they agree. They are sisters only because we chose them at the same time at the Humane Society. They are both calicos. Their resemblance more or less ends there. But now – will miracles never cease? – they are *grooming* each other.

This will almost assuredly end in a fight. It pretty much always does. I’ve been parenting so much for the last two weeks that I am highly attuned to “things which usually end in fights.” I wait. They settle. I am stunned.

And then, just like that, Hera is done. She gets up and leaves. Look at Tippy’s shock. img_2989-1

I imagine she’s thinking, “But I was being NICE. WHY ARE YOU LEAVING?” To be fair, pretty little Tippy is not usually nice. Hera was probably smart to leave when she did.

And Tippy doesn’t seem too bothered by it all. She settles back in for a nap, moving to the center of the chair seat, her rightful spot reclaimed. img_2990-1

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My achy breaky heart: Slice of Life 27/31 #SOL20

This morning, my 9-year-old had his first-ever online meet up with his class. The kids were so excited to see each other that some were literally bouncing out of their seats. Several brought pets which led to others leaving the room to go get their pets. Dogs, cats, guinea pigs and even a hamster all played brief outsized roles. I stayed until my son waved me out of the room, but I wasn’t focused on the guest appearances. Instead, I watched his teacher’s face, transfixed by the genuine delight and caring that crossed it as he saw each little person show up on the screen. For one moment his eyes glistened, then he took a deep breath before he continued. My heart ached for him.

*********

This afternoon our 18-year-old exchange student went home to the Netherlands. During his short stay with us, he met a young woman and, in the way of teenagers, they fell head over heels for one another. Because pandemics apparently hold no sway over passion, they struggled to stay apart. Ok, truth: they didn’t stay apart. So this week our family and her family decided to break social isolation and let the two of them be together for four final days. Yes, we took a risk, but seeing them together at our house for the past two days made my heart swell. I had nearly forgotten about that overwhelming, all-consuming love that makes the rest of the world fall away from you. They were almost glued together at our house and were completely devastated when we dropped him at the nearly empty airport. Their hearts are broken for now, and my heart aches with mirrored emotion, aware that I know more than they do and that the knowledge isn’t always sweet.

***********

Today is my husband’s birthday. He woke up and made *us* scones because that is who he is. Later, while he was dropping the teens at the airport, the kids and I tried to secretly bake him a cake. Because I had a call scheduled with some of my own students, my boys proceeded on their own. When I finished the call, I found the kitchen and the kids fairly covered in butter and flour. Unable to find a mixer and unwilling to interrupt my call, the children had tried to cream the butter and sugar with a wooden spoon, then added the flour without adding any liquid ingredients. When I showed them how to read the whole recipe first, their faces fell: “Do you think it will still taste ok?”

“Oh yes,” I assured them, “if you have good ingredients, the results are almost always pretty good.”

Before I could stop them, they dumped all the buttermilk in at once, adding to the existing kitchen chaos. I started to laugh, my heart aching with happiness at their excitement.

***********

After the cake-baking, I insisted that we go for a walk. This was not a popular decision. Still, the kids have been inside for two days and it was finally sunny and veering towards warm. I was relentless. I forced them outside.

On our walk, my younger son complained and complained of a bellyache but offered little information and no solutions. Eventually, I lost my temper and yelled at him. Not long after that, he ran behind a metal bin and everything came out of him. I had to use my disinfecting wipes to clean him up. Afterward, he held my hand and snuggled close as we walked home, and he didn’t say anything about my inappropriate anger. My heart broke a little at his ungrudging forgiveness.

*************

Today my heart has ached all day long.

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The little things: Slice of Life 25/31 #SOL20

Today did not go the way I expected it to although, now that I’ve written that phrase, I suppose I could say that about pretty much any day of the last two weeks, which is when COVID-19 reared its ugly head in this part of the world. And, if I’m being even more honest, daily chaos of some sort or another has featured in my life for nearly 12 years (hello, children), and probably for longer than that (hello, teaching). Still, since we’re in middle of a global pandemic, I’m totally going to blame the virus rather than my life choices. After all, pandemics need to be good for *something*.

At any rate, I woke up today ready to write this blog – clearly I did not, in fact, finish it this morning because it is now decidedly evening and here I am. And, worse, none of my “hangouts” worked, my children were stir crazy (we baked brownies and polished silver, among other things – yes, you read that right. We polished silver. I cannot explain this. We don’t even *use* silver. I honestly didn’t even know we *had* silver. But there you go.) Still, I had a plan, dang-nabbit, and involved pictures. I’m plowing ahead.

Yesterday, Molly over at Nix the Comfort Zone joined Leigh Anne’s Self Care Spring Fling. Leigh Anne invited us to share our three best self-care ideas. Molly’s second was “Focus–At least for a little bit every day, take the time to slow down and focus” then added, “For me, both writing and photography help.”

If you want to see some beautiful nature photography (and read some excellent poetry, too), Molly’s blog is a great place to hang out. I find the pictures inspiring or calming or just what I need, and recently her inspiration has slipped over into my walks. My walking has increased because of COVID-19 (remember a few days ago when I didn’t even want to name it? Take that, you nasty virus! I can say your name!); I am often nearly desperate to get out of my house. With the walking has come noticing, and with noticing, photography (from my cell phone – don’t get too excited). The photographs, in turn, have enticed my children to come walk and notice. This is a cycle I highly recommend.

We have taken to looking for small unexpectedly beautiful things or big things with details we might have overlooked before. One boy likes close-ups and shapes; the other likes the way colours go together or how things look from a distance. We try to look at both natural and manmade things. We pass my phone between us, sharing each delight with the others. Every walk reveals things we’ve never noticed before, no matter how many times we have previously walked that way.

Our neighbourhood is quiet these days, and we have plenty of time to pause, notice, reflect. Our walks meander. Our focus, however, seems to have sharpened. It turns out that our everyday is brimming with wonder. Who knew?

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Up: Slice of Life 24/31 #SOL20

Thomas has been asking to watch Up for the better part of a week. For reasons he cannot explain – but which he assures us are not merely to torture his brother – Eric has been saying no. Because we are trying to establish some sort of family togetherness or, at a minimum, some basic negotiation skills, we’ve been choosing films that “everyone” wants to watch. Thomas says that means Eric usually “wins;” even I have to admit that Eric’s sheer stubbornness means we watch quite a few of his choices.

Last night, Eric relented. Surprised, Andre and I relented, too. It was a little too late to start, and no one believed that the boys would “go straight to bed” without at least a bit of a read aloud. Work from home has started in earnest and we really had too much to do: Andre needed to clean the kitchen; I needed to create a lesson. “Fine,” we conceded, “you can watch the first 45 minutes while we work. Then it’s straight to bed!” The boys agreed happily.

But then we only have Disney+ on the upstairs tv, and they wanted to watch in the living room. The Amazon dongle wasn’t working for reasons we couldn’t quite fathom. I’d been doing IT support for the boys all day long and was near the end of my tether. Andre offered his phone, assuring us that he could live without it for 45 minutes, but somehow I was on the hook for remembering another password and Andre chose the wrong HDMI port. Thomas kept trying to help; Andre kept saying no; Eric refused to take part. By the time we got everything set up, we were all four on the couch in the living room, but no one was particularly settled.

When the movie finally started I looked at Andre and said, “Stay for the first part. I know how much you love it.” The opening montage, ten minutes that shows Ellie and Carl’s whole life together, engulfs us, and by the end we are holding hands and Andre is crying – he always does. The boys snuggle closer, not quite understanding, but not quite not understanding, either. Our battered old brown leather couch, pushed too close to the television, surrounded by our life in semi-unpacked boxes, holds our family in its embrace, and no one gets up. We just watch. Together. We laugh and talk, colours animating our faces, love animating our faces: a whole life in one short montage.

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Precision: Slice of Life 22/31 #SOL20

Days before we all became aware of COVID19 and started practicing social distancing, we moved back into our house after nine months of renovations. While the world has changed so much so rapidly that I could almost swear we moved home months ago, we’ve actually been home for less than two weeks. And our builders only finished up two days ago – or maybe three? I honestly cannot remember.

The last thing the builders finished was the basement, and the renovations meant that we lost some of our attic storage space. Taken together, this means that we have not been able to unpack nearly as much as we would have liked to because we really needed the basement space for a) things that used to live in the basement and b) everything else. Mostly, we’ve been moving boxes to new temporary homes, cursing a lot, and swearing that we are just going to donate everything that’s still in a box so that we don’t have to make another decision. Things are so bad that I might have even taken that last step if only any of the charities were open.

Our house is still complete chaos.

While I am very, very far from a neatnik and can tolerate a fair amount of mess, I have realized over the last few years (ok, truth: after having children) that there is a level of clutter beyond which I get pretty stressed out. We have been there for weeks. No matter what I clean or move, when I turn around, more awaits me. Boxes are everywhere, taunting me, daring me to open them, their unknown contents laughing evilly, waiting for me to despair. My senses are tuned too highly: every noise bothers me, every touch sets my skin to alert (yes, I’m rashy); my tastebuds, oddly, dull & I sneeze often. Many days, I hide in our bedroom to avoid the onslaught. Sometimes I have trouble breathing.

Andre, however, is largely unphased. He spends hours in the basement moving things from the front to the back, from the floor to the shelves with dogged determination. He is calm, careful and confident, knowing that all of this will eventually be sorted out. He finds a happy medium between motion and perfection. He just keeps working, even when I try to pick a fight. He is measured where I am not.

This afternoon, trying to calm my senses, I steal a quiet moment in the sundrenched space of the new kitchen. I sip my tea, concentrate on reading, on writing, on breathing. At the other end of the room, hidden behind the kitchen island, Andre and our younger son begin a project. Andre tells him about the proverb “measure twice cut once.” They practice cutting; they roll something out. Oh! They are making a peel & stick chalkboard calendar for our family schedule. I overhear them measuring and measuring again. “Ok,” says Andre, “We need to cut at 24 and 7/8 inches.”

I am incredulous. 24 and 7/8″? Seriously? At this very moment in our house I cannot reliably find my bathrobe. Our kitchen things appear to have multiplied while in storage. Our younger son’s room is literally knee-deep in stuffed animals; the 18-year-old exchange student is on hour four of a “socially distanced” walk with his girlfriend (so let’s just acknowledge that there is no distance left there, thus undoing all of our work); I think my older child may have been playing video games for 48 hours straight; there are boxes in every single room of our home and, oh, yes we are in the middle of a global pandemic and my husband – a man I married on purpose – is cutting something with a 9-year-old so that it measures exactly 24 and 7/8 inches?

I start to chuckle deep in my belly. I feel a smile threatening to become a full laugh and press my lips together, hard, to stop it. My eyes crinkle as the smile fills my cheeks. Of course he is. In a world filled with chaos, Andre figures you might as well get the measurements right. When they get that calendar on the wall, it will fit perfectly, and it will stay there for years, I bet.

Suddenly, I can breathe a little more easily. Might as well finish up this post and then, I think I can tackle some of those boxes again. I’ll leave Andre to finish up in here. He’s got this under control.

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Piano: Slice of Life 19/31 #SOL20

Today we decided we had to move the piano. We had to move the piano in order to set up the work area and plug in the computer. We have to plug in the computer because sometime soon we are going to have to start working from home. This week is our March Break, so everyone has been off; next week, reality will hit. We’re going to need that computer.

Unfortunately, the piano was here:

You can totally see the piano, right? Just back there under the blanket. I mean, no problem at all.

Obviously, I hid upstairs while Andre tried to clear enough space to get it out. I got a lot done upstairs.

Eventually the path was clear and it was time. We tried to slip sliders under the piano’s feet so that it wouldn’t gouge the hardwood floors. Only it turns out that the piano has wheels. Great! Wheels! We maneuvered it away from the wall. Um… it was still leaving marks on the floor. Time to use the sliders after all.

“The backside is heavier. Let me just lift it up and then you can slide it in really quick.”
Groan, gasp, quick intake of breath.
“It’s ok, try again. It’ll fit, but that angle’s not going to work.”
We started to giggle. We are terrible.

After all our work, the piano rolled off the sliders during our first good push/pull. Now what? We looked around… carpet remnants! After another slightly naughty conversation and an awful lot of lifting and sliding, we got the piano’s wheels onto two carpet remnants. Now all we needed to do was slide it down the hallway and into the dining room.

Actually, let me amend that slightly: we needed to slide the heavy piano on two random pieces of carpet down a narrow, freshly painted hallway without marring the newly refinished hardwood floor.

Our 11-year-old, lured by the siren song of his parents struggling, came to perch on the stairs and watch.

With our first heave, the piano slid right off one of the pieces of carpet. Undaunted, we pressed our now-laughing child observer into action: his job was to squat between his father’s legs and keep the carpet roughly in place. Andre pulled; I pushed.

“3…2…1… GO!” Down the hallway we went, inches at a time, over the treacherous air intake grate, past the door frame, narrowly missing the bit of wall that juts out for no discernable reason.

“DAD! Your bum is in my face!” We ignored Thomas and pressed on.

Hours (ok, minutes) later, we were in the dining room and near-ish to the piano’s final resting space. We paused. Only one challenge remained: get it into the corner.

We pushed one side back, Thomas vigilantly ensuring the carpet remained in place. Then the next. Then the first side… the second… there! It was in. Now to remove the carpet. We held the middle and one side and tilted the piano a tiny bit and… voila! The carpet came out. The second side was even easier.

We stood back to admire our handiwork. Thomas cocked his head to one side and said, “You know, I’m not sure it really goes in this room.” Then he laughed like a maniac and ran down the hallway and up the stairs.

That piano is staying where it is.

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Reframe: Slice of Life 18/31 #SOL20

Yesterday was *not* a good day. I felt a little better after I wrote it all down, but I was still all akimbo. And then, friends. After I posted, one of my friends sent me this message:

Renovations are horrible at the best of times!!! Adding the stress of this situation, not seeing a loved one etc etc is really easy to miss the accomplishments you achieved today! You were out w your kids, I saw you!, you journeyed, you spoke with friends, you showed your kids that a change of scenery and asking friends for help is real…i could go on. We are so tough on ourselves:( decrease your to do list to 2-3 max items per day and if you need a tea break we can have a social distance one together at the park!

I felt seen. I could begin to see what she saw when we walked by her family and waved. Her message buoyed me and, as I went to bed, I felt myself begin to be able to reframe – not to deny my worries, but also to see the other side of them. So today, a list.

Yesterday, reframed:

We now know that both our fire alarm and our carbon monoxide detectors work (extremely well).
Some of the guys on our construction team have partners whose work is tenuous or who have already been laid off; the guys working here still have a steady income.
They are really good at their job & continue to renovate in a way that is both safe (because there’s a lot of crazy in our 120-year-old home) and beautiful.
We have friends who let us use their house no questions asked – even if we have to scale a fence and break in to do it. They’ve even suggested that we continue to use it until they get home – and their cat will be overjoyed to see us regularly.
The boys and I got out of the house several times. We even went to the local bakery – which is open & running with careful social distancing – and chatted with the workers who know us so well that they remember our account number. And the running tab means we don’t even have to use cash!
When the noise was too much, I was able to take a long walk and talk to friends.
My mother is safe at home – and has a safe home and people around her who love her and will take care of her, even if she lives alone. My sister – whose children’s school was cancelled until the end of the year – has lots of support and is starting a new routine. And her boys love to read.
Andre let our exchange student drive on the way to see his girlfriend. He was *delighted* – even if we do own a minivan.
We have tons of time to cook right now, but we ordered dinner from the restaurant where we held our rehearsal dinner 13 years ago – it’s Sri Lankan and delicious. They were so happy to see Andre that they gave him some of the food they’d had to put in their freezer. Our local businesses need our support.
This moment in time is nerve-wracking – like watching a vase fall to the floor in slow motion: it’s not cracked yet, but we know what’s coming. Still, when I had a bad day, I was reminded of the strength of my extended community. And I have food and a (not *quite* complete) home. I am lucky because one good night’s sleep & the support of my friends and family allow me both the space to be upset and the space to reframe.

Ok, Wednesday: I’m ready for you!

new window

happy cat

parkour lessons pay off

driving the minivan

so many beans

they found the costumes

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Over the edge: Slice of Life 17/31 #SOL20

It is only Tuesday. I had to double-check that after I wrote it. I checked twice. Still Tuesday. I’ve been holding it all together pretty well, but today has taken it out of me.

7:30am – after a restless night, the phone startles me awake. How am I still asleep at this hour? On the other end of the line, my mom is saying that she is going to go ahead and drive up for her planned visit. My grogginess disappears. I ache to see her, but she should NOT cross an international border (with corned beef and cabbage in the back seat, and a giant stuffie in the passenger seat) for a brief visit during a global pandemic. I know it sounds really obvious when I put it like that, but I really really want to see her right now, and I know she wants to see us. What usually feels like an easy drive with a quick pause at the border is insurmountable in the new reality of COVID19.

9:00am – Eric and Andre have made sausage biscuits (which I pretend is “homeschooling”). I post a picture online because he is so dang cute and immediately feel guilty because it’s basically all show. By now, all the construction guys have arrived and they have a LOT of cutting to do. For much of the day, one guy is in the basement cutting through the concrete with a wet saw (?), another is sawing and hammering something just outside the front door, and two more are either finishing siding – pound pound pound – or cutting through brick to finish a window on the second floor. Sometimes the whole house vibrates. I spend the morning trying to either a) convince the children to unpack their bedrooms or b) do some work for my online course. I am successful at neither.

Every few minutes, the noise crescendos and everything I am thinking about disappears. Eventually I cobble together enough thoughts to realize that I am living Vonnegut’s “Harrison Bergeron”; this would make a good slice, I think, but as soon as the idea takes shape, the pounding recommences, the walls shake, and the crew continues to work.

I try to unpack but run into the tetris conundrum: we can’t put anything in the master bathroom because they are cutting a window in the wall, so the bathroom stuff is stashed mostly in the closet which means that I can’t move the things from the bedroom to the closet which meant that I can’t… you get the picture. I call a friend. As we talk, the fire alarm goes off – for the first time.

At least the continuous bone-rattling clamour mostly prevents me from worrying about how to reconcile social distancing and construction work. In the precious seconds between chainsaw buzzing, I console myself that these men have been crawling all over this house for 9 months. They spend more time here than at their homes. And our house isn’t actually all the way finished, so we don’t have a lot of choice. We clean a lot and don’t hang out with them much. It’s the best we’ve got.

12:00pm – I keep trying to work. I have essays that need marking, an online course that requires reading, and a blog that needs writing (that’s this one), but the more I try to focus, the more I feel sick. Am I feverish? I don’t think so, but my head hurts a lot. Our exchange student, God bless him, asks if he can go to his girlfriend’s house. I feel like I should say no, but Europe has closed its borders; Canada has all but closed its border; Ontario has declared a state of emergency; this pandemic could last for months, and this poor sucker of an 18-year-old is stuck in our nearly-finished house with a tween and a mouthy 9-year-old while the walls shake from construction. So we say yes, with strict instructions for them not to go out at all. He smirks and says that “shouldn’t be a problem.” Sigh.

1:15pm – The fire alarm clangs on and off for over an hour before they figure out what’s causing it. The furnace guy comes to check the furnace and then leaves again. My head is still pounding and now my stomach hurts, too, so I go for a walk in the neighborhood – nevermind the occasional “wintry mix” that is our weather. My heart falls as I walk past shuttered business after shuttered business. The coffee shops, restaurants and hair dresser, all closed. The playground in the park is abandoned. Only the local pot shop is thriving: the line stretches down the street. So this is what it’s come to.

3:45pm – I walk for a long time and my head starts to clear, but eventually I have to go home. I’ve just put in earplugs (as useless as getting out a broom during a tornado) and settled as far as I can from the noise, when an infernally loud beeping begins. It’s not the fire alarm; now, between shrill yips, a calm computerized voice says, “carbon monoxide detected” over and over and over.

We grab the kids and hurry them down stairs as the construction lead comes in and begins to open the windows. Clearly we need to get out of the house, but everyone is quarantined or social distancing. And while it’s not actively spitting snow/rain/sleet, the skies are ominous. I think on my feet and suggest our friends’ place – they’re still on vacation (in Mexico! imagine!) and their house is empty. We know the code for their keybox. We hurry down the street only to discover that their back gate is iced shut. The kids offer to scale it just as the wintry mix begins again. I text our friends; they are delighted to let us use their house. The kids find the key box & get the door open.

3:55pm – we are in. No one is hammering or sawing or pounding. There is no fire alarm, no carbon monoxide. I don’t have my computer or anything to do. No matter: I sit in the glorious silence. Slowly my headache subsides. The boys are on the other side of the house, watching TV and I am just sitting. I have not done any of the things that needed doing. I have not read or marked or written. I haven’t unpacked or cleaned or cooked. I haven’t organized or even been able to think all day long. And I am so tired.

I text my friend. I say that I am tired. He replies,

A move plus no school plus a deadly furnace plus a pandemic is a lot to happen in a week. 😦

6:00pm – as we walk back to the house, now free of smoke, carbon monoxide and sawing of any sort, I get a message from my sister: her boys are out of school until the end of the school year. She is panicking. My 9-year-old starts to say how awesome that would be when his brother hushes him. “This is really serious, isn’t it, Mom?” he asks. I nod. “Maybe I’ll start a journal when I get home,” he says quietly.

And then I know I am over the edge. I will need to sleep before I can think properly again. It’s a lot for one week – and it’s only Tuesday.

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Ice, Ice, Baby: Slice of life 16/31 #SOL20

I grew up in southern climes. My father was in the Air Force and we lived in Panama, Texas and California before we settled in South Carolina. Even my “far away” university was below the Mason-Dixon line. As a result, until I moved to Ottawa, I had little experience with seriously cold weather. I refused to agree to move here until I had visited in the winter. My then-boyfriend now-husband was so anxious about this that, when I arrived in mid-February, he met me at the airport, bundled me into a taxi, looked at me and asked, with absolute sincerity, “So, do you think you can handle the cold?” I said yes. This is what love will do to you – even if you’re a Southern Girl.

I didn’t see snow fall until I was in the 5th grade. That summer, we had moved from California to South Carolina, not exactly a bastion of cold weather, but colder than what I knew. One day in February, someone yelled, “SNOW!” and we all ran to the window to see it until Mrs. Rish called us back in her quavering voice: “Sit down! Sit down, children! It’s not like you’ve never seen snow before.” I turned to her, eyes wide with wonder and said, “I haven’t.” Bless her for saying, “Well then, Mandy, you can stay there.” I pressed my face to the cold glass and watched in amazement for long minutes before I returned to my seat.

You can imagine my first few winters in Ottawa. I had to learn everything anew, not least of which was how to dress myself – and then babies – for cold weather. None of the coats I owned were even close to warm enough. I did not have winter boots. I was pretty sure that no gloves in the world could keep my fingers warm in February. Sometimes I tried to stay inside for days, despite Andre’s gentle insistence that going outside at least once a day was healthy.

Eventually, time and the kids got me outside. After all, I didn’t want to miss the fun of building snowmen or turning the back porch into an epic sledding ramp. When the boys started parent-child skating lessons, I went to the rink and tried to pretend that, like the other parents, I was mostly there to hold the kids up when, in fact, I was learning, too. Now I can lace skates – theirs and mine – stand up from a fall, and even race my kids down the frozen canal in February. I’ve come to love snowshoeing and have taken a ski lesson to get over my fear of downhill skiing. I still don’t love it, but I can get down a hill.

The more I played outside in the winter, the more I got used to the cold. Sure, I wear hats and gloves starting in October and straight through to April, making “real” Canadians laugh, but in last year or two I’ve caught myself “just running to the car” in slippers & a bathrobe even when the temperature is well below zero (Celsius – think maybe in the 20s Fahrenheit). Yet none of this prepared me for my recent fascination with ice.

ice from below — Ice stalactites from a roof

Canadian kids have some built-in knowledge about ice. They know which patches are likely to be slippery and which ones they can careen across without a second thought. My children tear down the sidewalk, sure-footed, running ahead while I slide my feet tentatively across every potentially slick patch, always unsure of what is safe. I am not ice-savvy; I’m not sure I ever will be. Perhaps this is why I started examining the ice all around me as I walked. It was as if my brain concluded “If I can’t intuit things about ice, maybe I can observe my way into this important knowledge.”

Much to my children’s disgust, instead of becoming a savvy winter walker, I’ve slowed down even further. The more I look at the ice, the more I fall in love. These days, I stop on the sidewalk, pause in parking lots and wander through parks, looking at the ice the way I once looked at the falling snow, in absolute wonder at the unexpected beauty of winter.

Out the doors: Slice of Life 15/31 #SOL20

Nine months was a long time to be out of our house for renovations, but at least the humans in our household understood that our tiny apartment was only a temporary space. Tippy and Hera, our cats, were less fortunate. They clearly thought our move to the apartment was a significant turn for the worse in their lives. They were particularly grumpy about the change from being indoor/outdoor cats to being indoor cats.

Tippy – who, after we got her, spent long hours lying in wait, hidden, so that she could escape every time the smaller humans opened the door to leave – is the reason that they are allowed outside. The apartment was practically an affront to her existence, and she was, frankly, dissatisfied with the only alternative to the great outdoors that we had to offer her: a tiny back porch.

When we moved back in, our house was so dramatically altered that we didn’t know if they would recognize the place. We didn’t want to risk them getting lost, so we kept them inside for a few days. Hera was pretty relaxed about the whole situation, but Tippy was not impressed.

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So yesterday, we relented. Tippy kept begging at the front door, so we let them out. Look at their cautious excitement.

This morning, as I sat in our new kitchen, enjoying the sunshine, I noticed that neither of the girls was begging to be let out the back door, even though they were right next to it. Then I realized that they had never seen a sliding glass door before. I promptly stood up, walked over, and opened the door. I thought their heads were going to explode. Tippy who is, honestly, way way smarter than Hera, kept looking at the door and then looking at me as if to say, “Um… you just opened a WALL.” Hera actually stuck her paw through the opening and then pulled it back in several times, like some character in a Disney film who’s testing a magical portal. Eventually, they both went outside. Hera freaked herself out and came right back in – what if that magic portal turns back into a wall?! Tippy looked back as if to say, “See ya!” and disappeared into the neighbors’ yard, probably to let the neighborhood know that she’s home and will be requiring her previous rations of adoration and food.

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And I returned to my sunny spot in the kitchen, chuckling and glad to be home.

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