On this day, we begin renewed.
On this day we are joined with the voices of the world who cry out for peace, and we say onto them, “Watch us.”
On this day, we are jarred by the howls of those who oppose us, who say we cannot prevail, that we cannot be what we once were and strive to be again. To them we say, “Watch us.”
And on this day, a man stood before us as he did 40 years ago, again in the shadow of a great leader and glad to be there. He helped usher in a movement aside Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. that struck the heart of every American near and far. And today, that same man cried out to his god and called for a blessing upon a president he thought he might never live to see.
And now, I have watched a lame duck depart, and none too soon make way for a man willing to do what is asked of him, not make excuses, or feign grandeur in the face of things he knows nothing about.
I have cried, I have laughed, I have joined my fellow man in song. This day begins a new era in our history. And it is a history we make and shape and move toward together. The man has set the pace. Let us move together, making 'love' a word of strength once more.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Remembering a Friend
Day started like any other. I got on a train, then a bus, then slipped and fell on the ice that had been dusted with snow overnight. Love it when my pride gets bruised more than anything else. Looked up to make sure no one saw that, and moved on. I got to my desk, got settled, and started writing.
Then my phone went off. And my world cracked at the edges.
“I made an appointment to have Raven put down tomorrow @ 8.”
Shock. Then I got mobile, and rang my sister, Lexie. Apparently Raven, the black beauty of the cat world, had had a stroke. She wasn’t eating, she wasn’t drinking, and she couldn’t walk. At 16, she’d finally lost out to time.
Raven started her stint in our lives a puffball hauled out of my sister’s leather jacket one evening in December. Raven and her siblings were being given away at a local vet’s office, so Lexie snagged one and walked her home. 3 miles home. In the cold and wind of an Indiana December. We already had a cat at the time, a big orange tabby named Winston. He was only 2, but he didn’t take kindly to having this new little thing in the house. That lasted about a day. After that, he was carrying her to the litter, carrying her to the food bowl, showing her all the sunny spots, and generally taking this skittish little kitten under his wing.
Raven became the streak of black lightning that would race through the house now and then. You’d never know she was a cat. You’d swear she was a small rocket. She liked to hide, she liked to burrow, but most of all, she liked TUNA. It was the only sure way to get her out was to open a can, and there she was, just around a corner, or under a table, ready to zip out, get her snack, and zip away.
She passed between Lexie and I several times over the years, first with both of us when Lexie and I lived at home, then sometimes with me, sometimes her. She wandered at night, prowling her domain, but loved hiding out on the towels in the linen closet. Open the door, and there she was, looking at you, wondering why you felt it necessary to disturb her nap.
As the years passed, she got ornery, though not mean, just a touch bitter about getting old. Then the beagles came, and I know she wondered what she’s done to deserve them. Though they learned quickly she was a force to be reckoned with, she still wandered about, though slower than she once had, hanging out more in plain sight now that everyone knew to fear and respect her.
We as a family had been making fun of her age for a while, though never in front of her, because that yielded sharp looks and destroyed items to be found later. But deep down, we all knew the day would come when we’d have to say goodbye to our little black beauty.
And now that day has come. The fiercely independent femme noir who submitted to getting declawed but never fixed now looks to those who always loved her to send her on her way. Tomorrow, Lexie will take her to the vet to be put to sleep, and then she’ll be buried next to Winston in my mom’s backyard. And every spring, the flowers will mark where the next point of her journey begins.
Farewell, my littlest friend. I will never forget you, and all you have taught me.
Then my phone went off. And my world cracked at the edges.
“I made an appointment to have Raven put down tomorrow @ 8.”
Shock. Then I got mobile, and rang my sister, Lexie. Apparently Raven, the black beauty of the cat world, had had a stroke. She wasn’t eating, she wasn’t drinking, and she couldn’t walk. At 16, she’d finally lost out to time.
Raven started her stint in our lives a puffball hauled out of my sister’s leather jacket one evening in December. Raven and her siblings were being given away at a local vet’s office, so Lexie snagged one and walked her home. 3 miles home. In the cold and wind of an Indiana December. We already had a cat at the time, a big orange tabby named Winston. He was only 2, but he didn’t take kindly to having this new little thing in the house. That lasted about a day. After that, he was carrying her to the litter, carrying her to the food bowl, showing her all the sunny spots, and generally taking this skittish little kitten under his wing.
Raven became the streak of black lightning that would race through the house now and then. You’d never know she was a cat. You’d swear she was a small rocket. She liked to hide, she liked to burrow, but most of all, she liked TUNA. It was the only sure way to get her out was to open a can, and there she was, just around a corner, or under a table, ready to zip out, get her snack, and zip away.
She passed between Lexie and I several times over the years, first with both of us when Lexie and I lived at home, then sometimes with me, sometimes her. She wandered at night, prowling her domain, but loved hiding out on the towels in the linen closet. Open the door, and there she was, looking at you, wondering why you felt it necessary to disturb her nap.
As the years passed, she got ornery, though not mean, just a touch bitter about getting old. Then the beagles came, and I know she wondered what she’s done to deserve them. Though they learned quickly she was a force to be reckoned with, she still wandered about, though slower than she once had, hanging out more in plain sight now that everyone knew to fear and respect her.
We as a family had been making fun of her age for a while, though never in front of her, because that yielded sharp looks and destroyed items to be found later. But deep down, we all knew the day would come when we’d have to say goodbye to our little black beauty.
And now that day has come. The fiercely independent femme noir who submitted to getting declawed but never fixed now looks to those who always loved her to send her on her way. Tomorrow, Lexie will take her to the vet to be put to sleep, and then she’ll be buried next to Winston in my mom’s backyard. And every spring, the flowers will mark where the next point of her journey begins.
Farewell, my littlest friend. I will never forget you, and all you have taught me.
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