Cat Nap

My former cat, Scout, had an interesting way of waking me up every morning. He would hop on the dresser and use his paw to push whatever was around to the floor. It usually only took two or three things crashing onto the parquet floor to wake me from my slumber.

My current cats are content to let me sleep away the morning...to a certain point. When I was still working, my alarm went off at 5:00 AM each weekday. With early morning hours like that, five days a week, a luxurious late Saturday sleep still only meant waking up at about 7:00 AM. Even in this first year of retirement, I'm usually up no later than 7:30.

This morning, I woke to a cat jumping on my back, followed by a hissy little cat spat. I knew it had to be late. It was just past 8:30 AM. Wow, I haven't slept that late in quite some time. 

At least now I know when the feline patience wears out.

Fox on the Run

I was surprised by a quick flash of orange and black fur running through the backyard.  It's been a while since I've seen a fox around my house, but even when they've been more frequent, I'm always taken aback when I see one. That was this morning, and I had pretty much forgotten about the quick encounter until this afternoon, when I watched two sleeping cats bolt up and to attention.

I was on the phone at the time, so I couldn't figure out what all the commotion was about. When I finally moved over toward the back window, I got a full view of a beautiful fox standing on my back patio. She was beautiful with a full, rich coat of fur. Older cat Edgar stood with his ears at full perk, trying to assess the situation. Younger cat Alice must have sensed danger-she often does-because she scurried off like a mouse being chased by a cat without a sound.

I watched as the fox turned toward me and stared. And then just like that, she strolled off to the cover of a clump of overgrown bushes in the middle of the back courtyard. Maybe I'll see her again tomorrow, if not, I'll keep looking and listening...and hoping there may be some kits to see in the future.

Good Morning Baltimore

My dad was the king of storytelling, especially when it came to his old neighborhood and his family. Anything I know about his family and his ancestors' immigration from Ireland and Scotland to Baltimore is because of the stories that he's told. His stories have become my own.

Growing up, there was a portrait of a stern, gray-haired woman that hung on the wall in our living room. She had the kind of eyes that followed you around the room. Honestly, I think we were all. a wee bit scared of the person we called the old woman. These days, she leans against the wall in my mom's basement. The basement is scary enough for me, simply because I feel like if my dad was going to pay a visit from the beyond, it would be in the basement. Whenever I find myself down there, I prepare myself for a ghostly run-in. I haven't seen him yet, but that doesn't stop me from taking a breath when I see that old portrait leaning up against the cinderblock wall.

Fortunately, I've saved many of the emails my dad sent about his family history. He was into his own genealogy way before Ancestry.com arrived on the scene. Most of his research was conducted through family interviews and a collection of pictures passed down through the family. Today I came across some information about that scary old woman. I remembered the stories, but had never figured out her real relation to me.

That old woman is actually my second-great-grandmother, Bessie Kearney Fisher.  She was born in 1835 in the county of Kildare, Ireland. By the time she was 21 years old, she was married and living in Baltimore, MD. He didn't have much information about when she arrived, but his mother told him that when she sailed to the US, her vessel was becalmed in the middle of the ocean. For about two weeks, there was nothing to eat but oranges. By the time she finally made it to Baltimore, she knew one thing- she never wanted to see another orange.

I've let my own Ancestry subscription lapse recently. After finding my dad's old emails and family newsletters, I think it's time to pick that subscription back up so I can continue where he left off.

Galway Girl

I may have some Irish DNA, but I'm not a lover of the traditional corned beef and cabbage St. Patrick's Day meal. This evening, I decided to pair my Guinness with Butter Chicken, Naan, and a vegetable Samosa.

If you think about it, India and Ireland have a few things in common (besides the double I used in the spelling of each country.

Obviously, they both had their own struggles as part of the British Empire. That's pretty much the only connection I could make between the two countries, so I turned to the internet for a little more Ireland/India trivia. A quick search showed that many soldiers and administrative staff in India were from Ireland. By the time the 1890s rolled around, seven of eight British provinces in British India were governed by Irishmen.

India and Ireland were both interested in gaining their independence from Britain, so much so that they formed the Irish Indian Independence League. Apparently, an Irish woman is credited with composing parts of the music for the Indian National Anthem. Even today, the two countries maintain close diplomatic ties. Not surprisingly, there is a large Indian community alive and well in Ireland.

Note to self- look for Indian restaurants on my next trip to Ireland.

Cheers!

Click Click

I don't mind sliding into the MRI machine, but I certainly don't love the experience. That was until today.

My back has all kinds of issues, and since my last MRI was about ten years ago, my doctor thought it was time to get some new scans. I can't say I remember much about the experience ten years ago, but I do remember it wasn't pleasant. It could be that I had a higher level of pain back then, and lying on my back was the last thing I wanted to do, especially for 30 minutes or more. 

Today's experience was the opposite. After lying back on the table, the tech raised my legs and placed a pillow under my knees to take the pressure off my lower back.  A second tech was gently placing earplugs in my ears. Tech one then explained that she would give me a pair of reflective glasses that would allow me to watch a calming video while the test took place. She placed headphones on my ears, reflective glasses on my eyes, and pressed the button to slide me into the machine.

The next thing I knew, I was watching sunny beach scenes, followed by swimming dolphins and other underwater life. At the bottom of the screen was a countdown bar that showed me how much time had passed and how much time was left. Yes, all the loud clicks and machine groans were still there, but I just dreamed about being at the beach. Just about the time a playful group of pandas showed up on screen, it was over, and I was slowly emerging from the MRI tube.

Some Guys Have All The Luck

It's been over 6 years since I've made it to Irish Bingo at the catholic church my sister goes to. Six years later, not much has changed. Yet again, everyone in our group came home empty-handed. We did not win a jackpot on regular bingo or on the special bingo rounds that cost an extra $5 per card. We did not win a door prize. We did not win anything in the Big 6 Wheel game. We did not win a darn thing.

We did have fun, and we all agreed that we'll be back next year. Perhaps our luck will change.

Cat Scratch Fever

Another cat fight just erupted on the couch. For whatever reason, my female diva cat has one goal in life. That goal is to make sure she gets whatever spot my older cat is sleeping upon. She's younger but claimed everything as hers the minute she arrived. It didn't matter that she was the new cat in the household or that my older cat had already claimed the kingdom as his own when he arrived four years before.

That Alice, she shows no fear.  Unless somebody comes through or knocks at the front door. In that case, she scurries upstairs and hides under the bed until she's sure the coast is clear.

Poor Edgar. The disgust he feels anytime she's around is marked by every hiss that emits from his mouth. 

After the scuffle, he pulls himself together and sits next to me on the arm of the sofa. He glares as Alice sleeps. I tell him it's okay to give it right back to her, but he'd rather sit with me and get some head and neck scratches.