Looking for Inspiration, Finding Simplicitity

Frederico and Ginger Rose                                           Catherine Al-Meten

This morning, long before sunrise, I woke to find my two cats up and ready to face the day. Long before I was ready, I found myself taking care of the simple tasks that get life started around here. Water bowl filled with fresh water, kibble filling up white space in dishes, and window open so Homeland Security (what I call my two cats), can keep an eye on the river. After making myself a cup of tea, I returned to my writing perch (a lapdesk in my bedroom where I can look out on the river), and began writing my morning pages. 

For anyone reading this who doesn't know what I mean by morning pages, I refer to a practice I began over 20 years ago. When Julia Cameron's book, the Artist's Way came out in the mid-90s, I got it, and learned about morning pages-the simple practice of starting each day by writing 3 pages. Having been unsuccessful in keeping a regular journal or diary before that time, I wondered if I could do it. The guidelines were simple. Simply write. Write anything, but write and fill up 3 pages. I picked a basic spiral notebook. It has 70 pages, and when I write on front and back, that is 140 pages. About every month, I open a new spiral notebook, and begin again. At the start of the school year, I get a huge supply of spiral notebooks when school supplies go on sale. I hand out spiral notebooks to counseling clients and to people who come to my dream workshops. Anyway, you get the picture. 

For me, the morning pages have become part of my daily writing and spiritual discipline.  What do I write in my morning pages? What would you find? Records and chats about dreams. Prayers and  poetry. Lists of things to do or things needed, and check lists with items checked off (yes, I go back periodically and check off what has been done or completed). List of plans and outline for ideas and projects. Drawings, sketches, and  doodles. Sometimes the pages are incomplete. Sometimes there are more than three pages. You would find, upon close inspection, the pages were not morning pages at all but were written in the evening or middle-of-the-night pages. On a rare occasion, days will be missed, however this doesn't happen too often. 

Morning pages have become a habit--a good habit for me. They require that I pick up my pen and notebook, and start writing. From that point on, the writing begins to flow. Sometimes the flow is in short sputters, a few words at a time, but soon, the critic who lives in my mind, quiets down, and I simply write. 

This morning, before the sun had come up and before I had even thought about writing, I began to observe the simplicity of life. Today, I woke with a dream and a number of thoughts in my mind. In the space between sleeping and waking, thoughts about a friend and her grandchildren started flowing through my mind. Pretty soon I was trying to count how many grandchildren she has. I made it to 20, and then remembered another son who had a child. Also on my mind this morning was my own granddaughter and my daughter. And I thought of other writers. Thoughts of what made their lives similar or different from my own. How two writers in particular seemed to have mastered the art of dedicating themselves to whatever book it was they were in the middle of writing. 

And then the thought came to mind, advice given to writers and artists and other children by their mothers everywhere--don't compare yourself to others. And so I came back into my body, and observed who I was and where I was, and what my life was. Quite simply, it is a beautiful life. I sat in the dark morning hours watching the lights on a ship. The lights looked like a constellation of bright stars in the shape of a whale, hanging over the river. I heard the early calls of the ducks and geese upon the water, a few yards from where I sat. Beyond that, nothing much stirred. My neighbor's light was on, I noticed as I made tea. Picking up my notebook, I began writing my morning pages, and just as the thought came (that critic again) "Maybe you'll never write another poem. Maybe the well has run dry." I reached for my pen, put pen to paper and wrote. 

Now Julia Cameron says never to share what is in your morning pages, however, just this once, I am sharing a portion with you. As this column is about the writer's life, this passage fits perfectly into what the process is like for me.

"Just when I think --always a big problem and we create big problems in our own minds--there's nothing more, no more poetry, once again I find, the well is not dry. The words are ready to flow when I get out of the way and act as a writer. Writers write.  So maybe my problem, if there is one, is that I'm more than a writer."

And so it is. We are all more than one role or another that we are devoted to. We are inspired by the lives we live, and by our willingness to be present to how we are living. For me, devotion comes from a call to express myself to reach others who might need inspiration. Connecting is a form of sacramental living for me. Connecting through my writing, my art, my counseling, and especially through my relationships and service to others, is driven by a strong spiritual need to find meaning in life and to support others as they do the same.

For a writer to fill the well of ideas, inspiration, and focus, it is necessary to be open and receptive to the flow of life, in even the most simple acts, in the smallest observations. The annoying nip of a kitten that is a way of saying "I love you", the rampant storms of the mind that occasionally wake us up to a flood of ideas, fears, or epiphanies. The raging storm, that stills and centers us. The quiet calm and sunlight that reminds us that change is inevitable. The constant outpouring of beauty against the horrifying reminders that all is not well at some places, sometimes, for all of us. Right now, being still in this moment, a kitten curled up quietly beside me and the clouds moving across the morning sky, I look into the golden eyes of my cat and see that "all is well for now". 

We've moved, once again, from darkness of night to light of day, as we accept the invitation to be grateful for this day. As we pray for those who need our prayers, and as we watch and listen for the signals and signs of what we are called to next. For now, in this one moment, Presence finds me. We are one in the Light of this moment. 

The Simple Act of Making the Bed

Most of us have some kind of routine or regular pattern for getting the day started. Morning routines, seasonal routines, phases of the Moon, Sun, and Stars routines.  My morning routine this morning included reading some inspiring thoughts of other writers and of checking my email messages.  After being jolted by the news yesterday that Robin Williams, the beloved and talented actor and humanitarian had most likely died of a suicide, there has been a steady stream of outpouring from those who knew him, from those who knew him through his work, and from those who were shocked and sad that this man of light was now gone.

In the back of my mind, thoughts of Robin Williams' films, and of interviews I had watched over the years came back. I thought of all the places where we had walked the same streets though our lives and paths never crossed. When I sit in our home in San Francisco hearing the fireworks from the Giants' stadium, or when I hear the roaring of the crowd at the ball game as I walk by the stadium on our way to the baby park, I imagine Robin Williams sitting with his friends, cheering his favorite home team on. Walking around Sausalito, or the streets of San Francisco, or wandering around Marin County, past Tiburon, San Rafael, and San Anselmo, we never met. I never missed his movies, and often saw them each more than once. His wit never failed to entertain me, as it did so many others. There was always something so sad in nearly every role he played. There was a deep pathos that showed through as one who feels life so deeply and seeks to affect it so profoundly, often expresses.

Though I did not know this wonderful man, actor, and humanitarian, I feel the loss of him. He gave more than he could ever know, hitting us where we feel the rawness and tragic humor of life. He touched us because we could feel that he saw something of great beauty and sadness in being human, fallible, and vulnerable. As I walked into my bedroom this morning, I leant over to spread my coverlet across the pillows, as I made my bed. And at that moment it struck me that Robin Williams would not be making his bed today, or any other day. He would not be doing the same things he usually did each morning, afternoon, or evening. He would no longer greet his wife and settle into their comfortable routine, nor would he hold his children again, or make us laugh in new and ever-surprising ways. He is no longer living in his human form, and has made his way into another level of being. He carried great sadness with him, and we can only hope he feels some release and relief from whatever drove him to seek a way out.

My thoughts this morning are with those whom he left behind, who now have to carry on with their lives in ways they probably never imagined. My prayers are for his family and his good friends who now have to make sense of last words, or last encounters. Who have to wonder if there weren't something they could have or should have said or done. For those who suffer such great anguish, loss, and grief, no words can comfort, and time is but a slow balm that never promises healing. Instead we fumble with the sheets, and tuck in the blankets. We wash up the last cup left on the counter, or put the shoes and toothbrush somewhere--anywhere but out to be a reminder of loss. Or perhaps, we leave everthing in place, just as it was, hoping somehow that will help us retain the scent or feel of that person's presence in our lives. For those of us who have lost someone to death--something that will happen to all of us--we know how we settle into routines of grieving to help us bear the weight of loss, to keep us numb from the shock of knowing, that we have to go on without someone who filled up a part of our lives. For family and friends, that is a huge part of life. For the rest of us, it is whatever he meant to us, whatever his films touched in us, or whatever our experience of this iconic figure in our lives was.

Anyone who has lived through the past 40 years or more has known Robin Williams as a voice of a generation that has spoken out, acted out, and made attempts to live life with heart and soul. Robin Williams became the one among us who wasn't afraid to make us laugh at our feeble attempts to live right, or to make us see what lay under the coat of pretense, political double speak, or help us face our inhumanity to one another.  He was not afraid of pointing out our foibles, tragedies, and failures, and he was not afraid to be human and share in that humanity in so many ways.  We lose a voice who spoke to us, for us, and over us to give us a reason to go on. We are sad that you have gone on and left us a little bit lost without you, a little bit richer because of you, and a great deal sadder and confused about how to make sense of such a great loss.  We didn't want you to give up hope, and wish we could have made it better for you. Rest in Peace, the Peace of a Compassionate and Loving God,  dear Robin Williams.

Announcement: New collection of poetry and essays available now!

 

                                  Whales & Nightingales Press 

                                      releases-

                          








Woman on the Run: A Collection of 
Poetry and Essays 

                           by Dr. Catherine Al-Meten

I am happy to announce that my second book of poetry, Woman on the Run: A Collection of Poetry and Essays, has just been released in print and Kindle versions. I encourage you to get your copy either by going to amazon.com, or by ordering directly from me at Whales & Nightingales Press (c.j.almeten@gmail.com). Woman on the Run: A Collection of Poetry and Essays catches glimpses of how I experience and view life.  

The poetry reflects life on the Oregon Coast, up and down the Columbia River, and travels to and from San Francisco and Monterey, California.  The 118-page volume includes full color photography also reflecting life along the waterways of the Northern Coast. Looking forward to sharing this new collection with you all.

The essays included in Woman on the Run are some that were written while I was living in Monterey and San Francisco, and while I was publishing the online journal, Voices of Women’s Wisdom. 

Get your copy of Woman on the Run: A Collection of Poetry and Essays by visiting:

Woman on the Run (paperback)

Woman on the Run (Kindle)

Looking forward to scheduling poetry readings and book signings. If you would like to schedule an event, contact me at calmeten@gmail.com.

Stopping Points

In Flight                                                       Catherine Al-Meten

Author, Annie Dillard, wrote,"a schedule defends from chaos and whim.  A net for catching days."  Sometimes it seems that time has just flown by. When I am  envisioning something, say some day wanting  to write a book,  or just getting started doing an interesting piece of research, or setting goals to fill in some requisite statement of purpose or artist's statement, I somehow never imagine the kind of life  I  end up living. After so many years mastering my craft as an educator, and immersing myself in studies, research, and journeys down intriguing and interesting paths through ancient paths of ideas, cultures, and spiritual traditions, I found myself at a stopping point.

I say stopping point rather than turning point, because it seemed at the time, that no matter what steps I thought I should take, something else led me in a different direction. One of my good friends said to me years ago that wherever I went, I usually went thinking I was there for one reason, but once I arrived, found the Divine synchronicity of my life was leading me in an entirely different direction. I arrived at the stopping point after making a decision that changed the way I would spend my time and life.

The decision I made about eight years ago was to leave my career as an educator to start my own businesses. Since then,  I have been focusing my time, resources, and energy on being a full time  freelance writer, a photographer, and a spiritual counselor.   After moving  back to the Pacific Coast from the East Coast, and I  established myself in a little apartment up on the hill on Clay Street in Monterey. I  volunteered at the Monterey Public Library, and began meeting really nice people. On my 61st birthday, I found myself spending my birthday alone for the first time in years.  Birthdays are important marking points for me. Celebrating life, taking stock of what has come and gone, and settling into a new vision of the future. On that particular day, I drove down the coast to Big Sur, and treated myself to lunch on the veranda of Nepenthe. Later I wandered around the Phoenix Gift Shop. I walked downstairs to look at the beautiful clothes, and struck up a conversation with a woman who was working there.

We began talking about writing and photography, and about both having lived in Portland, Oregon, and we also began talking about pursuing our dreams.  This person, Toni,  and I became good friends, and spent quite a bit of time talking about and trying to help support one another's work. I worked the Open Studio tours in Monterey with her, and learned about how the art scene operates. It was interesting, fascinating, and so enlightening to me.  

Toni and I were both running our own businesses, and she told me about the Small Business Administration's mentor program.  I knew I needed some guidance and information as I didn't consider myself a business woman.I knew my field, and I was a good organizer and leader, but working for myself was something very new. During the  mentoring experience,  I sat with Robert Kramer an entrepreneur who runs his own CEO consulting firm. Robert was a good listener, and a very savvy businessman and strategist.  A former West Pointer, the retired Army man knew how to help those he worked with raise their expectations, formulate a dream, and then set out to achieve those dreams.

What I envisioned when I was working with Robert, is what I have done. How I am living now, is the result of  what I set into motion at his instigation. He pushed, he saw where I needed tools to decipher the process I was headed for. 

As we often feel when we are either at the beginning of a new path or at the end of it, we could never imagine what lay ahead. Throughout my life I have depended on a couple of pieces of Truth.

One, nothing is ever lost in the Universe. You may think you are lost, but with some perspective (time, distance, and a little wisdom, and more time), you will begin to see your way through the darkness or along a path that seemed to be leading you nowhere.

Two, everything matters and everything is connected. And we cannot always see every aspect of the plan, the destiny or fate-whatever you wish to call it.  Some call it the future, others call it certainty. That has never worked for me. I have come to expect the unexpected, and to just keep showing up, doing the work, and trusting.

Three, Trust is number three. What is true for me is I have to trust. I have to trust myself. I have to trust a Divine, intervening and guiding Principle, and I have to trust the process and the source of all creative acts.

A thousand tiny sparks have been lit along the way, lighting the path, one glimmer at a time. Now I turn around and realize there is more that I have created than I can keep track of. This surprises me, for I like many writers and artists, never think I have done enough, have enough time, or have gotten as far with a project or idea as I think I should.  And yet, every day I keep showing up, picking up pen, or laying my fingers on this keyboard, and pretty soon, in hidden files, on scraps of paper, and on book covers and journals, I pick the fruits of my labor and see I have bushels of creations.

This evening, I was cleaning up the files on my computer. In the process, I found a poem here, and another there. I opened a manuscript I had begun, oh I don't even know how long ago. I started going through the document, and realized I had a book of poetry already.  Because I do more than one thing at a time, I sometimes go long periods of time between working on some projects. With poetry, I do not write it every day. I write primarily when I'm inspired.

That happens often enough, but I just keep adding one after another, until now I have another book. It is as if the book just kind of floated down from the ceiling and landed in my lap, saying something like, "Oh you have a little editing to do, and you might want to add a photograph here and another there, but you've got yourself enough material for the new book."  I wasn't even thinking about another poetry book, certainly not tonight, but that's what I found.  

At this point, I am so immersed in Life that I can hardly keep track of all that is happening. I'm getting some things accomplished with relative ease and speed, while other things take longer and seem to be outside the realm of possibility sometimes. Because I love to understand the why and how of everything, including myself, I wonder if I'll get to the point when I'll be able to process everything that has already happened in life?  This will most likely happen when I'm in a conversation with someone I love or someone who understands how exciting and captivating life can be.  

For now, I use meditation, prayer,  and my yoga practice to keep me connected and grounded. Maintaining spiritual practices eases some of the pressure I put on myself to do each piece of writing well, and to give my very best in every situation.  I realize I'm not that important that anyone is noticing whether or not I'm 'doing it right'; that pressure is on me, by me, and of me.  I love writing. I love doing photography, and I really enjoy the time I spend with my clients and students.  The practices of presence and patience have allowed me to live more mindfully--more in the present of each moment. And feeling really connected to that Spirit which moves within me and connects me to everyone else, everything else, and whatever Divine Cosmic energy there is that shapes and holds us in motion. 

This blog is about writing and the writer's life. I stop in here periodically, to share my thoughts about the writing process, or my life as a writer...whatever seems connected to my ideas that might reach the heart, mind, or soul of someone else.  Each one of us is different from one another. Our personalities and all the elements that shape who we are and what our lives are all about, give us each a unique perspective. What we do with our gifts, experiences, disappointments, desires, and needs, is a dynamic and very unpredictable variable.

What I want to share tonight is this.   Do you ever wonder, "Is anything happening to make my life more fulfilling?", "Have I produced or created anything of value?"  Some say philosophically, "You won't care what you accomplished at the end of your life. You'll only care who you loved." Well if you are a writer, or any other kind of artist, you know that is not completely true.  I write because I have to write. I have a pen in my hand nearly all the time. My writing and photography are influenced by many things, including who I love or what I have passion for. However, they are also something else beyond that.  We write to give voice to that passion. We photograph to capture the "here and now" for someone who is not present.  We carry our art around in our hearts, our heads, our memories, and from home to home.  For me, the two go together in many cases, feeding one creative moment into another into another.   

Pull out some of your favorite creations, projects, or ideas. Put them in some kind of solid form (writing, music, art, sculpture, carpentry, photograpy). Then allow yourself some time to absorb what you have created.  Tonight I put some pieces together, and began wrapping them up in one shape to send out into the world.  That's what writing and then putting together a book is all about.  It's a beautiful experience, but for me, it is not a linear process. There are linear moments in the process, but the path is windey and full of uncertainties, choices, and releasing. Tonight's Full Moon in Scorpio and Sun in Taurus are pulling us in different directions, yet allowing us to experience much greater wholeness than we migh normally. As water and earth come together, we shape our lives based on the physical, concrete, mundane, and daily-life expectations, and we do so with great inner awareness, acceptance, and love. Full Moons are about completions, fulfillment, and receiving what is meant for us. 

As a way to honor this energy tonight, I turn my mind and heart to pure acceptance of myself as well as others. No one let's things be...it is not in our power to grant permission for others to live or not. If we are observant and wise, we will notice what it is in our lives that needs to be released, in the sense of notice it's gone, it's over, or it's clear, and go on with new knowledge and understanding. I can do that sometimes. Other times it may take me a while longer. Tonight I surrender my will to that of God, and trust that I will know when I need to know. What I can do and be certain is necessary is to take good care of myself. Get enough rest, exercise, nourishing food, and live a relatively satisfying and secure life. 

I feel fortunate to live in a small town where there is more life than I experienced in some cities.  I know this is a reflection of how I have seen the world, however, it is a very nice place because of the way people treat one another, for the most part. There being fewer people here, makes it easier to know people at a deeper level. Because there are many artists, writers, and spiritual teachers here, most people understand how important it is that we allow one another time, privacy, and a bit of distance in order to do what we need to do.  This is a particularly juicy time of life, and tonight while it's still hot and muggy, I am simply satisfied to be at the end of the day.  Wondering about what's ahead or what could have been, have no place in my home tonight. The breeze is blowing in the open window, and the night birds ar making noises out on the river. The moon's trailing over the tree tops, and the night is beautiful and alive. 

The pot at the end of the rainbow

St. Patrick's Day Rainbow                                                            Catherine Al-Meten

The adage, 'The rules were meant to be broken" must have been uttered by a pragmatist, no an idealist. An idealist would believe a rule was necessary to provide boundaries, limitations, or order in the Universe.  A pragmatist would know better. Rules are meant to be broken because, despite our intentions, we veer off course occasionally. This morning while reading an article on developing simple habits, I realized I do best when I establish rituals, guidelines and elements as part of my daily practices, trusting that they will come in handy when I veer off course.

This morning as a wide shaft of a rainbow pours out of the storm clouds into the northern shore of the river, I am mesmerized by the power and beauty that forms life. Today is the first day of my new year, having celebrated my birthday yesterday. As I connected with my family and friends, I was reminded of who I am an dhow fortunate my life is. At this time of year, I reflect and consider how far afield I may be from some of my dreams, goals, and desires. It is also time when I consider how mindful and present I have been of each moment, each experience, and each relationship I have been blessed with.

Birthdays are threshold times-times when to look back over the year to see how far we have come, to see what has fallen away, disappeared, been resolved, or healed. It's a time for gaining perspective, realizing what we can bear that we thought might take us down. It's a time to better understand how much we can change or have an effect on others, and how much we cannot or will not. It is a time to come to accept how little we can do for others despite our best efforts and intentions. It is a time we can learn who and what remains faithful and constant in our lives, and what is transitory and fleeting.

Today as the morning light reflected off the dappled storm clouds rising in the West, the sky filled with vibrant pinks, grays, whites, against the bright blue sky. It was a moment between  storms reminding us that the Sun comes out after even the darkest, fiercest storms. As the waters of the tidal river ebb away from the reeds, camas, and berry bushes along the shore, the sunlight fills in the rippled places in the silty bed of the ancient river.  Yes, time and tides come and go, ebb and flow, and so do our lives move on, deepening along the way.

One of the changing influences in my life this last year has been the addition of two lovely kittens. In just the twinkling of the eye, my life changed from one spent in quiet, serene, and deeply satisfying solitude, to one of rambunctious, cat-and-mouse-chasing chaos. From a schedule determined only by my own biological clock, needs, and the Sun, my morning rituals have dissolved into games I [lay to keep some kind of order in my waking and writing life. From morning journal writing and dream recording practices, my rituals now revolve around designing ways o stay in bed while cats tussle under my covers and threaten to pounce on me if I move to kick them out. As in my teaching days, "the look" coupled with a threat of the squirting water bottle (not needed or used in my teaching days), have become my tools for order. All I need to do is raise the bottle; one squirt was all that was needed to make only the threat necessary. Making the morning  ablutions part of the ritual also helps. The rule, "It's a good idea to make your bed first thing in the morning" Has become a challenge. What once was a simple chore and part of my daily ritual has become a raucous, playful, morning meditation with the kittens.

So on this first day of my new year, I am finding peace where I am, in this moment, and in my life. Goals now include befriending myself, becoming more accepting and understanding of who I am as opposed to who I thought I should or would be. Getting more comfortable with my many layers of being--years behind me, memory piling upon memory, days turning to years, years to decades, and time beginning to fly faster that I would ever imagine it could With the patience, wisdom, and good sense of my Nurse Practitioner and my Chiropractor (and the other healers in my life), I am becoming more understanding of my body, mind, spirit, emotions, and ego (the little atman, self, limited mind).

At the end of the past year, one of my old friends died, and the promise of life changed as I recognized the meaning of being present in a very tangible way. One dear friend shared with me her feeling such sadness at the death. She said, "I'm so unenlightened about death." This from a very religious, spiritual, and deeply conscious woman...however her words touched me as the tangible, realness of losing someone, losing the physical presence of someone is so very difficult. We get trapped between how they die and the spiritual reality of what happens to their soul, their energy, their true being. What lies between those two extremes are all those connections, memories, significant moments and places where our energy is still connecting, storing, and holding a place of honor for the one who is no longer with us.  When we lose someone we love, we are awoken or we are released. We are filled with dread or we are filled with awe. We are frightened or we are reminded how valuable each moment is. My first response to my friend's death was gratitude for all those in my life who I have loved. Such gratitude for family and friends who are and have been part of my bounty--the pot at the end of the rainbow, for in the end, what matters is that we have loved.

As I stand on the threshold, I look out across the river, the mountains, and the sea, and I open my arms, my heart, and my mind to receive whatever blessings await. On the journey of the new year, my desire is to be awake, ever present and mindful, grateful and aware of the gifts of presence.
As my Frederico, my tomcat, drops his mouse beside me for the umpteenth time, he reminds me to pay attention and be playful. Even if we get the occasional scratch or trip over a cat's tail, living life fully in connection and engaged is worth all the scratches, broken hearts, and messes we make or have to clean up. Life is meant for living, not just observing it or trying to play it safe. We get out of life partially what we put into it. However, the richness of life and living is in what the people and experiences that we let into our hearts and the risks we take in following our dreams, creating beauty, and keeping doors open. It is in keeping communication flowing with those we love. Life is not just about making it what we want. Life is about treasuring what it is, valuing we we are, and recognizing how fortunate we are to love, to create, to discover beauty and to share life with those we are gifted to have in our lives. Next time you sit with a friend, talk to your child or grandchild, or look across the room at the one you love, slow down and be present a little longer. Listen. Savor. Feel the sense of the silent places between you and recognize how truly rich, fortunate, and blessed you are. The more of those special moments you have, the more you will get scratched, make messes, and need healing. But the more of life you will have to draw on, to sustain you, and the more you will have lived life deeply and significantly. And there will be times when those you have loved will remember those significant times together, and that will be the bond, the connection, the ongoing Creation that we have each added to the web of life and love.

Writing with Kittens

Fred and Ginger                                                                                                                                     Catherine Al-Meten   

On New Year's Eve, two new residents joined my household. Fred and Ginger arrived via my friends, early New Year's Eve day, and have changed my life completely. It's been years since I have had cats of my own. Friends have invited me to get my 'cat fix' by house and pet sitting  for them.  I enjoyed immensely taking care of other people's cats, and yet, I have had a longing for my own pet. When Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, brother and sister kittens of about 3 months of age, came to live with me, I had no idea how much they would affect every area of my life, particularly my writing life.

Last time I had cats, they were 'old lady' cats who had long outgrown their kittenish ways. They lounged across computer keyboards, or dangled their heads and paws from the top of the bulky, old computer monitor, but rarely felt intrigued by my pen, paper journal, or toes that I can recall. When Fred and Ginger were en route, I was more concerned about how to deal with the "litter box" situation than I was anything else. The litter box has actually been one of the easier adjustments due to the improvements made with clumping litter, and my daily practice of keeping the box clean. There are no lingering catty odors, and my bathroom floor is always clean as it is swept once or twice a day. Only occasionally will I spot fresh, damp kitten paw prints marking the dark wood floor leading a way from the bathroom--a sure sign someone has been investigating the water dripping in the bathtub.

Right now my friend Frederico, FeFe, is lounged beside me on the top of the glass table where I am writing. His interests alter between the occasional bird he sees flying past the window out across the river or into the bare branches of the plum tree outside, and the ball that the other kitten, Ginger Rose has found under my bed. He sits beside me for a few minutes, gazing at me and watching me write. We have a conversation about privacy issues, how much he wants told about his life or not, and then we agree that I will only share the cute and funny behavior as it directly relates to my writing.  It was really a one-way conversation, as I doubt that Fred Astaire, Fred Pablo, Frederico, FeFe...has anything on his mind except whether or not I will read his clues regarding filling up the bowl with kibble, making sure water is fresh and up to the rim of his blue water bowl, or whether or not I'm up for an occasional  game of cat, claws, tag at 2:30 in the morning or not. In the middle of the night when woken from a sound sleep, however, I discovered kittens are basically untrainable. The result is, I have been trained to vacate the bed during such moments, stare out a the stars and try to find Mercury, Venus, or Mars, or spot the Galactic Center at such times.

My first clue that my writing habits were going to be affected by my new charges came the first morning, when they came up on my bed after sleeping behind the stove for their first night. They jumped up on my bed as I set my cup of hot tea on my nightstand (of course what was I thinking--an open invitation to a kitten to stick a nose or paw into the cup to see if it was anything of remote interest  to them). It had taken me years to notice my old lady cats dipping their paws into the glass of water I had placed next to my bed for years. When I realized how many germs I had probably ingested over the years, I switched to bottled water. My carefully capped bottle of San Pelligrino water now protects me from whatever is on cat paws. However, I have had to figure out another option for hot tea, or the occasional glass of pinot noir. I now carefully place a saucer over my tea. I digress. About writing.
That morning as the kittens joined me for my daily ritual of writing in my journal, I noticed immediately that they were fascinated with the paper and spiral on the notebook. So as I wrote, they each chewed and threw themselves across the pages of the journal. My handwriting now has large, inexplicable slashes and loops indicating that a cat has slid across the page at some point mid-sentence or paragraph.

Kittens have affected my life in many ways, many I believe, for the betterment of my health and personal happiness.  For one, they are warm, soft, and silky (albeit the teeth and claws). They snuggle up next to me quite often, one preferring to sleep behind my neck on the bolster pillow that supports my back as I write, the other nestling in my lap or beside me under my left arm. They sleep for long stretches, so it's somewhat like having a baby again.  I wait for the naps to get a lot done. Sometimes if they have worn me out with a midnight romp, I take cat naps with them in the afternoon. One thing that is very interesting about having a brother and sister pair of kittens, is that they get along so well. They play like there is no tomorrow, and they are twice the fun, keeping me laughing and amazed at their feats.  As I sit on the couch sometimes, reading, editing some photography or doing a piece of writing, I will be surprised by a sudden soaring body flying from the top of a cabinet, counter, or high table across the room to land and slide in for a home run on the coffee table runner right in front of me. I'm not used to flying objects in the house. It's surprisingly like having your own angels flying around the room, reminding you of subjects that are much more important than what you're probably writing or reading about.

Kittens need, no demand, lots of attention.  They look right into your eyes, and can find you no matter where you are. They also have that 6th sense thing, that allows them to 'read your mind'. Sometimes they can anticipate what you're going to do before you even have made up your own mind. I do not lead a very regular life, so chucking their sensitivity off to recognizing patterns of behavior won't work to explain their catsight.  And when they start crying (for that's the only way these particular mews can be interpreted), I know they are not at all happy that I am preparing to leave the house. Unlike dogs that you can take with you without upsetting too many people, cats stay home when you go away. The longest I have left the house since New Year's is about 3 hours; usually I'm gone for an hour or so, and they cry each time I am leaving.  You can tell that I'm completely under their spell. When the time  comes for me to leave town for a while, we'll all need therapy and lots of mood modifiers to deal with that trauma.  I've envisioned getting carrying cases, driving everywhere I go again, (I stopped long distance driving about 4 years ago), or never leaving the house again, and inviting everyone to come visit me instead.

You see how these things happen when we get so attached to animals that we organize our entire lives around them. Would we do this for anyone else--family or friends?  For much of our lives we work on finding balance between our personal needs and our responsibilities and desires. We learn that we can't sit in our daughter's house for the entire of our lives, so we establish our own home again, seek some independence from a job that tied us to one place and bound us to a schedule.  Just when we have the freedom to do what we want to do when we want to do it, we bring kittens or puppies, or fish into our lives, and that changes the course of journey.  The real adjustment with having kittens is not whether or not I will be able to take care of them, get used to  litter box duty again, or keep them from eating up my freshly printed manuscripts or ready-to-frame photographs (although that has been challenging). The adjustment is with recognizing the presence and importance of having other beings in our lives. Sharing space and taking care of them. Giving them attention, and stopping what we are doing long enough to be present with the moment.

Some moments require our presence. Like this moment when I hear a crashing sound in the other room, and notice both kittens are missing from my desk.  Time to take a break, get up and investigate the situation, and oh by the way, get some breakfast, give my back a break, do some yoga stretches, and look into the eyes of Fred and Ginger Rose to recognize a part of my heart that had been dormant before they came to visit.  They remind me of the love we feel inside, and the need we each have of sharing that love, expressing ourselves to others, and to simply enjoying the moment whatever that entails.

Kittens have come to stay, and will be with me for many years. My writing will survive, though my lace curtains may not. I notice my arthritic hands can only pet, not grab or disengage their claws from something they shouldn't be using for a toy. I recall years ago when we got our first kitten together, my husband saying, "It's so nice to have another little soul in the house."  And it's true. The souls of kittens are big and powerful. They connect us, awaken us, and make  us feel more at home. And God willing, they will share their lives, souls, and kitty wisdom with us for many years to come. Writing may improve for the time I spend taking care of life's daily and necessary details, for the growth of compassion and the sharing of love that taking care of animals we are entrusted to care for awakens in us.

We three are sitting here at and on the glass top table looking out at the walkway along the river. All morning dogs and their  people have been walking by on their morning walks. We, are comfy and cosy here, with our cup of tea, our clean litter box, our toys, and one another, content and happy to be among the cat people. As I write this, I notice Fred chewing on the Audubon Bird book. He's very discriminating that way...choosy about what he chews. This probably won't be the last time you will hear about the kittens. They have moved into my life and heart, and have fit right into my daily routines. I close the bathroom door when I shower, and go on long walks by myself. I have yet to have to leave them with someone, and I realize the people I have cat sat for over the years, really entrusted me with their precious ones, and I feel extra blessed that Monkee and Rana, Luna (RIP), Zelda (RIP), Vinnie and Sadie, Simon, Pounce, Opal (Fred and Ginger's Mother), Fuzz Ball and Rosie (RIP), Cupid the Dog,   and Nejma, Halood, City Kitty, and now Fred and Ginger have welcomed me into their lives and hearts...life is richer when we open our hearts and homes to our animal friends.

PS. Seems cats can distinguish between the writing process and the ediitng process. Editing means we can walk across keyboards sit in laps, and demand more attention. Hmm, this will be interesting.