Progress in inches

(and the impression of sudden sorrow)

This has turned out to be quite a day. I finally got my inquiry letter sent out to my first choice contract sewing company. I sent out two packages today too that have been hanging in the air right above my head for weeks now. The first one is to Emma from My three loves with whom I am exchanging a quart of my home canned pears for a knitted scarf with bobbles. She's been waiting a LONG time for me to get my act together. (Thank you for your patience Emma!). The second package is for Frankie, the charming daughter of my blog friend Pam of Pam Kitty Morning. If you recall, I made her some black heart key chains.

The toaster caught on fire too. Our toaster was free fifteen years ago, it was old when we got it, and it's been on the fritz in the last couple of days. It's one of those handsome chrome ones with the cloth cord. Well, Philip wasn't used to the fact that it has gotten too tired to spit the bread out ever again. So he went off to do something and forgot all about it. Until he came back to a huge toxic cloud of hanging smoke and flames bursting out of the tired little appliance.

I also placed an order I've been wanting to place for the store.

I made a couple of phone calls I have put off making. I realize these things are very small. Like little tiny inches marked off a hundred yard run. Never the less, they make me feel good.

The county says Max's vaccinations aren't up to date and if we don't prove that they are or get him updated by the twenty first of this month he will be booted out of school. So I made phone calls for that too. Several.

Today it seemed like life kept kicking the ball into my court and I just kept kicking them back. That's just about as much sports talk you're ever going to get out of me.

I finally got on my Vespa to see if the battery has died since I haven't ridden it for three months due to the burnt out headlight and my inability to replace them. I know, it shouldn't be that hard. I've ordered them from two places who have both failed to get them in. I even took a trip to Portland to get one from their service shop; which just happened to be closed the day we came due to some one's ill timed wedding. Yep, the battery is dead.

I got lots of research done. The tedious kind that makes your eyes glaze over and kind of glue themselves permanently open. Sometimes I really enjoy this part of my work because I'm like a pit bull with information. I don't let go usually until I find answers or a dead end. Sometimes, though, I would rather be reading other people's blogs.

Lastly, I just sent off an inquiry to Mary Jane's Farm about submitting articles. Because I promised myself I would do it. So what if nothing comes of it? It's an amazing publication and completely up my alley. Only I'm pretty sure they don't publish any swear words. Or religious slurs. So I'll have to cut out all the "Oh Jesus" comments. They are like a farmy Martha, where everyone gets their hands dirty. Only more practical, more approachable, more real. None of this posh Hamptons crap. It's all about eating and growing organic, enjoying where we come from as well as where we're going. I'll confess that I'm always a smidgen uncomfortable with things that are too nice, too gentle, with no rough edges. But that isn't because I hate wholesomeness. No. It's because I'm always going to be a little rough. And not in a rugged handsome way either.

Life just keeps unfolding under my eyes. Like it does for everyone. Philip came home, while I was in the middle of writing this, crying in jagged sobs. I can count the times I've seen him cry on my fingers. He hit a cat with the car on his way back from the store. He was devastated that he probably killed some one's cat and wanted to stop but was too shaken up. Two women saw it happen and as he drove off appeared to be looking for it. I always like to look for strength in small comforts at moments like this.

There aren't a lot of comforts in this one. I knew he couldn't go back out there tonight. I knew one of us had to. So I took the mag-light and a towel in case I found the cat. The mag-light was also for possible tussles with crack fiends in the dark corners of the apartment buildings in front of which this sad thing happened. The same two women who had witnessed the accident were coming back from the "Plaid Pantry". They showed me where the cat was and said she barely made it to the curb before falling down dead. The small comfort in that is that she didn't suffer long.

I told you, I look for what I can. I wanted to cry when I saw her. She was black and sleek. I laid the towel over her and went to knock on doors. I didn't really want to, truth be told. The apartment buildings in question are the really depressing kind; big slate grey nineteen seventies boxes with small windows over which sheets are thrown to double as curtains. Maybe during the day I wouldn't be worried about who might answer their doors. I was worried tonight. I knocked on four doors. No one answered the first. The second door was answered (after a long pause) by a bloodshot eyed scruffy dad who reeked of stale cigarette smoke. I only know he's a dad because before he opened the door I heard his kid calling for him. He had no information.

I really wasn't surprised. He looked so checked out that he wouldn't have known the difference between his hand and mine. The next door I knocked on was never answered, though I heard a lot of noise behind the door. The last door I knocked on was opened by a man who was really friendly and had some information. He's pretty sure the black cat that Philip hit was the same one that had been abandoned recently by tenants who had moved out. This man said he took her kittens to the humane society. He also said how kind it was of us to try to find the owners of the cat.

I went back to the cat. I have to admit that I wasn't particularly keen to pick her up. For once in my life I'm not going to tell every detail. I wrapped her in the towel as gently as I could and carried her like a swaddled baby the three blocks home. I couldn't leave her there. Unclaimed.
Without being able to tell anyone how sorry we are that this happened; without being able to soothe the poor cat and make amends to her; we won't be able to move on from this unfortunate moment. It hangs in the air like a half finished song. I can't stop thinking about how Philip and this cat were kind of thrown together in a karmic tangle. As accidents go, no one is more to blame than the other. The cat ran out from underneath a car into the road where Philip, who wasn't speeding, tried to swerve out of her way. Now they're caught together here in this hour and it's important to find a way to move forward.

So I decided that she should be buried in our yard, in her towel shroud, and we will get the statue of the Virgin Mary, like I've always wanted, to mark her spot. I know it isn't much, but she'll rest somewhere kind, and she'll be remembered.