Category Archives: animal rescue

RETIREMENT IS FOR THE YOUNG

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Jack’s weekly guest blog

One day, dashing into the grocery in Scotland, I met a college colleague who had retired a year earlier. I asked him how we was enjoying his retirement.

“Ah, Jack,” he said, “it was made for a younger man than me!”

I know what he meant, now.

We are approaching the end of the grand basement remodeling (and Wendy swears there will be pictures to follow). If I do say so myself, the place looks lovely and cozy and just like us. The construction work (my part) is done, and we are now in the process of moving stuff down there from our upstairs rooms (mostly Wendy’s job). The last job I had to do was to fit a dog/cat flap in the old door to the outside yard and show our animals how to use it. (I hope Wendy didn’t get a picture of me halfway through the flap, bum sticking out, saying, “See, Zora, see? It’s so easy, just come along there.”

I suppose in the back of my mind, I was thinking that now the building is done, I would relax and take it easy, read my favorite blogs (on Scottish Independence, Folk Musicians, and Reasons not to Care about the Royal Baby – hey, I’m Scottish.)

Not a chance on that relaxation thing….

Before the upstairs turns into the SECOND STORY EATERY we envision (read: Wendy wants) there are things to be done: among others, repainting the staircase and our  upstairs former bedroom, installing heat and air up there (that’ll be fun) and fitting in an extra sink in the kitchen (required by the health inspector).

Then there’s the approaching Big Stone Celtic annual festival (Sept 28; y’all come!) with all the attendant meetings and emailing and phone calling – – –

Meanwhile the bookstore still has to be looked after with all that entails (mostly box after box of trade credit books) and producing programs for my weekly radio show keeps nudging me as well. We won’t even talk about Wendy’s foster cats and their needs.

Retirement? Pshaw!! I’ve never been busier in my life!

For those following the story of Hazel the elderly foster cat, she now has her own Facebook page in  her new home. Keep up with her exploits by liking CLAN HAZEL.

Sliding into Laughter

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After the intense emotions of the “Hazel Days,” it is with glee that I steal my friend Heather’s FB post and offer it here. Some of you may remember Heather as our bookstore cleaner who moved to Colorado recently. Her older son, Reese, is a solidly built lad of 11 (who has autism). I would have asked Heather to use this, but in their first week in their new house, they don’t have Internet access yet, except in one corner, stealing wifi from a neighbor for five minutes at a time. And she has to fight three healthy boys (including her husband) to get chair share time. Besides, it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission. (For those of you wanting news of Hazel, she has her own FB page: CLAN Hazel.)

And  now, heeeeeeeeere’s Heather!!!!

So…. we are in the pool at the local Y, where there are two giant twisty waterslides. Reese is doing his usual ‘go up to the top, sit down, think about going down, scream, stand up, go back down the stairs’ thing three times in 20 minutes. In a moment of what I NOW know was complete stupidity, I go up the two stories myself and suggest to David he go down the slide to show Reese what it’s like while I stay with Reese at the top.

STUPID. STUPID. STUPID.

Picture this: David is at the bottom of the slide yelling up to Reese how great coming down is. Reese and I are at the top looking waaaay down. I eventually coax Reese into loosening his death grip on the sides of the slide, but I can see that he is not fully prepared emotionally for what is happening, and begin to help him to the stairs when he is caught in the flow. He starts clawing like almighty hell trying to stop the inevitable. He slides down around a bend and tries to stand and … climb… back… up!

David and the YMCA lifeguard are now screaming for Reese to sit down, and we watch him slip to a point on the slide where we can no longer see him at all. He does not come down. The lifeguard motions for me to slide down, find Reese, and help him the rest of the way.

Let me preface this next part by stating that I do NOT like waterslides. In the least.

I grudgingly sit at the top of the slide and start down…

and quickly realize that this water is moving VERY, VERY FAST, and there is no freaking way on heaven or earth I can stop or even slow down. How the hell did Reese stop himself?

I fly around what I feel must be the twentieth bend (in reality there are 5) and there is Reese – standing on the slide against the water flow, gripping the sides, FACING me. I yell for him to hold on as I hit him full force. He lands on top of me, and we smash through the last three bends like wrecking balls to land in the pool, falling to the bottom with such force I swallow and snort what must be a third of the pool’s total liquid volume. I flail myself to the surface like a mad woman, believing my child is quite possibly drowning right in front of me (at the YMCA).

I come up sputtering and choking to find Reese standing in the pool with a look of total surprise on his face. He then slowly breaks into a grin and exclaims, “Oh, yeah!”

Oh, hell no. Never again. Never. Ever.