Photos for Purrsday Open Thread, May 21

             On May 25th of 2011, we were exploring Arches National Park in Utah. 

            We brought the kid along, to give him a look at something besides the insides of houses, and electronic toys. 

             Looking at these rocks, the sensation of time is overwhelming. Dreamtime?

            It's definitely the great wide open. I'd prefer to live in Nevada or Arizona I think, but Utah is good too.

            There were no stories up my sleeve yesterday, so instead you got a short travelogue! And, the road goes on forever and is always calling!

            Have a wonderful day!

           🌸

Emmy's Day Off

 

Most mornings when Emmy awoke, and had some breakfast, she studied for a couple of hours. She had decided to do home school, and she was greatly enjoying not taking the long bus ride into town and spending a lot of each day with just the mechanics of being in school.
            This morning felt different.
The Golden Frog sat in his tiny green house, but she could hear him whispering about going out of doors. “It’s spring,” he said. “All the world is waiting,” he said. He buzzed like a bee in Emmy’s mind.
            She dressed in jeans, canvas sneakers, t-shirt, and a little jacket with zipper pockets. The jacket was red corduroy and had a hood. Beth had sewn it for her.
            She put the Golden Frog in the right side pocket, and zipped him in securely. Her little phone went in the left pocket. Being wise to herself, she kept it in a zip lock sandwich baggie.
            Out in the kitchen, Beth was drinking coffee and checking things out online. Jesse had already left for the day. Honda lay under the table taking a morning nap. She didn’t see Billy, but he was around there somewhere, probably asleep too.
            “Mom, I’m thinking about taking a walk,” Emmy told her mother. “This frog won’t stop talking about going outside.” It was something they frequently joked about, as if the frog did talk.
            “Better eat some of those eggs then,” said Beth, taking her eyes off of the small screen to look at her daughter. Emmy was not a very big girl for her age. She had snappy dark brown eyes, like Jesse’s people, and curly black hair. Those curls are just about all she got from me, Beth thought. But she was smiling.
            Mother and daughter, had coffee together. Emmy liked cream in her coffee. She rolled her eggs up in a flour tortilla, with green salsa.
            “Take your phone, Emmy. Don’t wander too far,” said Beth.
            “It’s in my pocket. I’ll have to come back when I get hungry,” said Emmy.
            Billy turned up, yawning and stretching, from wherever he had been sleeping. For such a large cat he could hide well. Billy mostly kept his own council.
            “Want to come with me, Honda?” Emmy said, looking down under the table. Honda certainly did want to come with her!
            Outside, it was a breezy spring day, cool for Navajo country. Emmy noticed that the hens were still in their hutch. Jesse fed the hens before leaving for his shop. She glanced at their water pan just to make sure. Emmy loved the hens.
            Aunt Julia had loved the hens too.
            The consuming mystery of their lives was Aunt Julia. She was never found, no matter how hard she was searched for. There were theories, but people can’t resist making up theories, and Emmy didn’t believe any of it.
            Emmy and Julia had been very close, and to Emmy she didn’t feel gone. Not really.
            “Which way shall we go, Honda? River or road?”
            Honda headed to the little stream that Emmy called a river. Emmy followed slowly, doing a few fancy little walking steps that she had learned from Julia. It slowed her down, but of course Honda didn’t mind.
            The wind blew a few low clouds in. A little rain splattered Emmy and Honda.
            “Shall we go downstream?” she said, pulling her hood up over her curls.
            There was a path beside the stream. If they followed it for a mile or so, it would meet a larger stream. The water was higher than usual. It always dried up some in the summer.
            Honda dashed in and out of the water, bringing Emmy stones. She put a nice agate in her pocket with the frog, zipping them both in.
            Then the rain came down. The sky darkened. There was a flash of lightning, and thunder. Another flash. Honda walked closely with her now. The thunder bothered him a little.
            “There is something in the water,” murmured the Golden Frog. “Can you see?”
            The phone in Emmy’s pocket buzzed. It was Beth. “Are you hungry yet?”
            “Almost. I’m getting pretty wet!” laughed Emmy. Meanwhile she was looking closely into the little stream. Holding a steady position in the stream was a huge fish.
            It had whiskers! A catfish! Emmy knew he didn’t belong here.
            “Are you lost?” said Emmy to the fish.
            “I’m tired,” said the fish. “A yellow dog told me that if I swam up here that there was a wonderful lake of still water.”
            “Ma’ii is a liar, Fish. He wanted to catch you in shallow water and gobble you up!” said Emmy. “There is no lake up this tiny stream.”
            “Oh, woe!” said the great fish. “Now that I am weary, will you capture me and gobble me up?”
            “No, fish. But I will help you turn around. Then you can swim easily to where you belong,” said Emmy.
            So, Emmy waded out to where the water was knee deep. She wasn’t sure how to help the fish turn around, but she was willing. When she reached him, she saw that his belly lay heavily on the rocks below him.
            While Honda watched, just in case she needed him, Emmy reached both arms down into the water, hugging the fish. Then she lifted him and turned him head for tail so that he was headed back down stream.
            “Go home fish, and never believe a word from Ma’ii!” said Emmy, still standing knee deep in water.
            “May the Maker of All, always grant you mercy,” said the fish as he swam downstream.
            “You’ve gotten me and your phone wet,” said the Golden Frog.
            “I bet I did,” said Emmy, carefully walking up out of the water. She could hardly have gotten any wetter if she dove in. “I may end up living without a phone for a while. Sometimes those bags leak.”
            When Emmy and Honda returned home, they got all dried off, and had some lunch with Beth and Billy.

🐟

May 24, 2011, Into The Great Wide Open

 That year I rented some big sedan.

My Navigator and my grandson comprised the rest of the crew.

He's her nephew.

It was May, and we headed down through Washington and Oregon,

bound for the Southwest.

The photo was taken by my daughter.

Ridiculously enough, I couldn't get that close to the Canyon.

The effect was visceral and permanent.

I tried.

We hit all the places.

Death Valley.

Bonneville Salt Flats.

Zion.

There were ruins and petroglyphs! 

Given my choice, I would live somewhere in that wide open land.

To place a hand on a rock and feel its living heat, is not nothing.

To see so far, that the curve of Earth is almost discernable, 

is likewise something.

Have a wonderful day!

🤍

 

Millie Still Writes For the Paper

            It had been a while. Seemed like months had gone by since a reader had sent in a question to ask Ralph. This one was a poser. I kept drinking my coffee, thinking about it.
            I knew very little about this reader. She did’t introduce herself like so many of them had. All I had was a name. Lisa. T. Probably a female, right? No idea of her age.
What she said was: “Ask him, since he is so magnificently wise and serene, and can see through time and the forest, to explain what he knows about forgiveness.”
            This sounded to me like a bare question, stripped of all its supporting context. I wondered if she would take the answer back to someone and say, “See, it says right here...” Etc.
            I could but take the question to himself, and see what he made of it and report back to Lisa T. and anyone else who happened to read my column. His advise is usually well received. We shall see.
When Maeve hit my window ledge with her familiar soft thump, I asked her to ask Ralph if I could meet him somewhere or take him for a drive and pick his brain about a reader’s question.
            The next day was a Saturday, so I suggested tomorrow.
            “I’m pretty sure you can assume that’s fine,” said Maeve. “I’ll come back if it’s not. I’ll tell him you’ll be at the parking spot tomorrow morning. Then I’ll fly over and let him know you’re there.”
            “Thanks, Ma’am, I’ll be there unless I hear differently,” I told her.
I didn’t hear differently.
            So, first thing that Saturday morning I dressed for the woods, smooched Colin, and headed out to get some treats for the family. But, when I got to the store, I thought that the last thing they really needed were some of the goofy fruits of human commercial culture.
            It occurred to me that Ramona might rather have some useful practical supplies. With that thought in mind, I gathered up a couple dozen eggs, 4 lbs of butter, salt, sugar, pepper, onions, a 20lb sack of flour, and raisins. I knew they all loved raisins. You can’t pick those off bushes in the meadow!
            The sun had been up for an hour when I arrived at the wide spot on 20. Mist was still rising, and things were drying off.
            Maeve swooped by and then headed back into the forest. In a couple of minutes Ralph appeared.
            “Hey, Millie! Where’ve you been! Good to see you!” he said happily.
            “Oh, you know, working for the local rag, keeping house, and not going anywhere, I guess. You look well! Ramona takes good care of you!” I said.
            And he did look well! No matter how many times I saw Ralph, it was always kind of a shock how massive he was, how darkly shiny, and how he seemed to have an atmospherere of joy surrounding him. He grins a lot too.
            “I brought some things for Ramona. In the back seat there. I’ll wait, if you want to run them down to her, and tell her love from me!” I said.
            “Good idea!” Ralph said.
I sat and watched a few cars drive by, heading east or west. In about ten minutes,
he was back.
            “Mona was very glad to see those things! She sends her love back. Cherry says “Hi!’” he said, while carefully arranging himself in the passenger seat of the Escalade. He fastened the seat belt, but he thinks it’s funny to be tied in like that.
            “Help, help! I’m a test monkey,” he cried.
            “Me too,” I laughed.
            “Where do you want to go?” I said.
            “Let’s just go park up the forest road where we can look out over the land,” said Ralph
            “OK. Sounds nice,”
            I got back out on 20 and took the corner northward onto the nearest forest road. It was a familiar short trip to some pretty fancy scenery. Up there in a certain spot you could see just a bit of Puget Sound on the horizon.
            Parked, I said, “One of my readers asked me to ask you what you think about foregiveness. She didn’t say why she wanted your take. I feel almost like she has a point to make with someone, maybe.”
            “Huh, yeah. I see what you mean. Why ask me? She has all the facilities of mankind to refer to, and yet she wants to know what I think,” mused Ralph.
            He looked out over the landscape silently for a few minutes.
            “I have two main ideas about forgiving. Humans have a tough time with this, so maybe it makes sence to ask me, since I’m related to you guys, but not just the same.
            “First thing. Forgiving is constructive. It repairs a broken place. It makes it possible to continue. So the town is big enough fer the two of you.
            “There’s also something about authority. To not forgive is to assume authority over a situation yourself. You have to know who’s in charge. Is it you, or the Maker of All? He says you’re not the boss, give over. Let it be, right?
            “There is such a thing as being in authority under a higher authority, but maybe that’s not what she needs to hear about right now. I have the feeling that she is very angry at someone and needs to know what to do with that anger,” he said.
            “I think you’re right about that,” I agreed.
            “It’s hard to explain in English what I mean sometimes. Not my first language. Saslingua, is less mechanical, more about internal states. But, anyhow, I’ll try. This isn’t really big deal stuff. It’s everyday level.
            “Tell her that when she looks at the face of someone who has offended her, perhaps for years and very badly, that she has a choice. She can say to herself, “Whatever there is, there, is all there is, and it’s enough. I don’t require more. The question is over. I’ve drawn a line under it.
            “Then she might have another choice, to hang around or not, but at least the wound can close. She might have to forgive the same thing over and over until her own heart believes it,” he said at last.
            “You know what I think, Ralph? I think Lisa’s beef must be with one of your fans!” I said.
            “I bet you’re right! That would explain why she wants my words!” He laughed softly. “It’s odd to have fans, Millie.”
            We looked across the land from our vantage point for a while. Then I remembered that I had a big unopened bag of Gummi Bears in the pocket behind his seat.
            I pulled them out and showed him. “Remember?”
            “I sure do, Millie. I sure do!” Ralph said.
            “You should take them home to Cherry and Mona,” I said, starting the engine up.
            I drove him back home.

            Like a living dream, I watched him walk back into the forest.
            “I’ll tell her what you said, Ralph,” I whispered to the spot where he had been. “You bet I will!”
            Then, I drove back down 20, turned onto 530 and went home.
            Monday, I wrote it up. I hoped she could hear it.

🍀

The Voice From Under the Monitor

  

            Four of them live here. Lions, tigers, no bears. Now, who could be lurking behind the monitor? I knew it couldn’t be Mr. Baby Sir. He wouldn’t fit.
            Someone had slipped in behind there when I was out in the kitchen getting coffee or something.
            “What are you doing back there?” I said.
            “Nothing,” said the voice. OK, it wasn’t Suzie either. She mainly walks on the keyboard anyhow.
            “That’s impossible,” I said to the voice. “Are you breathing? Awake? Purring?”
            “Yes, but those things are automatic. I don’t do them myself on purpose,” argued the little debater.
            “You must have a purpose of some kind,” I advanced.
            “Purrr-pose? Porpoise? You’re funny, New Ma,” said the same voice. “I’m lurking and doing research. It’s what we do.”
            “A strange place to do research and lurking. What can you learn back there?” I said.
            “Well, of course I don’t know, until I do it. That’s logical, is it not?” the same debater said.
            “I’ll give you that point,” said I.
            “I love you,” said the hidden voice. A strong gambit!
            I could see paws and a tail, but it’s hard to tell them apart by their paws and tails.
            “I love you too. But, I can’t tell who you are!” I said.
            “I’m me!” mewed the voice, with absolute confidence.
            “Are you the same me who jumped into the fridge and wouldn’t come out this morning?” I inquired.
            A lot of muffled giggling issued forth.
            “He did it! Not me!” said the voice.
            “He would say the same, you know?” said I. “Both of you got into the fridge!”
            I could hear satisfied purring.
            Just then Booker strolled by, elegant, reserved, long bodied and slender, with his tail held straight up. He was heading out to the porch where the One Fast Cat wheel waited for him.
            “It’s you, Sweetie, isn’t it? I should have known,” I said.
            “Mew!” said the now identified voice.
            “Learn anything back there, Sweetie?” I asked him.
            “You have a lot of different stuff in baskets back here,” he said.
            “That stuff is my stuff, dude,” I said quickly.
            “I know,” he said complacently.
            I couldn’t see his paws anymore, but I could hear sinister stealthy little rattling noises.....

😻🧡😸

Catfurday Open Thread, May 16th! Incredible!

             I felt like talking about knitting again, while being lazy and not writing anything.

            Sure, it keeps your hands busy, and you, hopefully, get something useful out of all the fiddling. But what I find interesting is the language of the patterning. A pattern such as that doesn't need a chart. You can read it as you knit it. 

            It becomes as it is becoming. Like many other things.

            I think that's why so many of the old knitters made these types of fabric patterns. You could keep track of it and do the shaping all at once. It's a neat trick.

            Practical math, which teaches awareness and foresight.

🧶

Wanna Take A Ride?

 

 
            A soft cool rain was falling. It was almost like slightly particulate mist, somewhere in between, but heavy enough to fall. It was a dark, moonless night. The only light source was a single yard light like a streetlight. The light was almost orange, so sodium probably, Maurice thought.
            He was several miles north of town, and a couple of miles from the freeway. It was night and raining. He was tired, really burnt out from bumping along old style like a hobo. He didn’t feel much like howling at the moment.
            Howlers can fast, but it had been a long time since the last layover. The tacos were a fond memory. Thirst had his attention too. He dropped to hands and knees and lapped some rainwater from a puddle. It tasted just a little of diesel.
            When Maurice stood and stretched, he looked around himself more carefully. He had quite a way to go, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to get to the forest. Sure, he could walk, but Maurice was way out of his element. He didn’t know which way to go even if he did start walking.
            The place was mostly deserted, but there was something in the shadow of an office building. It picked up and reflected some of that orange light. Someone was parked there in a 76 year old Buick, as black as the night around it except for the grille. It shone in the dark like great chrome teeth, a smile.

            “No way,” said Marice, to no one in particular.
            A ridge of rough gray hair rose up along his spine. A chill passed through his body. But a True Howler is brave, and very snoopy, so he padded quietly over to the dark corner where the old car waited.
            At first it appeared to be empty, but in a moment he saw that someone sat in the driver's seat with her head bowed. It was Mable, as sure as the world. And she was having a little nap.
            He padded, barefoot you remember, over to the passenger’s side and tried the door. It was already unlocked. So, he opened it carefully and looked in. The driver’s seat was empty. For the second time in ten minutes, the gray hair on his spine rose up. He stood there holding the door handle, dumbfounded.
            “You’re not the only one who knows that little vanishing spell, Maurice!” she said. Then just as before, there sat Mable. “I wondered if it would work on you too!”
            Maurice later swore he saw a little dusty stuff like fairy dust blow away and vanish as she materialized.
            “Get in and shut the door, Pilgrim,” she said. “It’s damp out there, ya know!”
            “Hello, Ma’am! I am surprised to see you here!” Maurice managed to say, though his mouth felt dry again, and his tongue felt sticky. In spite of that, he got in and sat, closing the door behind himself.
            “Like to take a ride, Pilgrim?” She was grinning. He wasn’t sure that she was entirely real, but she looked friendly, and really what else was he going to do right then.
            “Yes, Ma’am, I would like to take a ride. Do you know where I’m going?” said Maurice. Maurice was making an attempt to determine where the floor was in this picture.
            “Oh, you’ll tell me won’t cha,” said Mable. She started the engine. It sounded like something from on old black and white film. The heater started to blow some cold air, so she had been parked there long enough for the Buick to cool down.
            “There’s a sack in the back seat. Just reach around and it’s right there. I brought you a little midnight snack,” she said, as the Buick started to roll dead slow out of its parking spot and head for the exit from this place.
            Maurice threw his arm over the back of the seat and reached around, and he found a brown paper sack just within his reach. He pulled it up front, and opened it. Inside were two heavy roast beef and horseradish sandwiches on homemade bread, and a bottle of chocolate milk. Even if it was some kind of crazy hoodoo picnic, Maurice was too hungry to worry about it.
            “Aw, thanks, Mable. Say, I didn’t see you by a lake in Kansas City, did I?” he asked between wolfish bites.
            “Never been to Kansas City. You like it there?” she said.
            “Yeah, sure. I wasn’t there very long,” he said. In the comfort of that deeply cushioned bench seat, he was getting sleepy again. This whole trip felt dreamlike. Looking outside he saw only darkness, and the rain splattering the windshield.
            He sat forward and looked downward. There were a few streetlights and houses way down below the Buick. He could see what looked like a great dim body of water off in the distance. ‘Surely this is a dream he thought,’ as he went soundly to sleep.
            And just like the boat in the nursery rhyme, all during the rest of the night until sunrise the old Buick captained by the old lady sailed the skies over the forests, hills, rivers, and towns until it came to rest at a parking place at a wide spot on Highway 20.
            “Wake up, Pilgrim, you’re home,” said Mable.
            Blinking, and nodding for a moment, Maurice woke suddenly. “How did you know?” he said wonderingly.
            “Oh, you told me,” said Mable, with a wink.
            “Home?” said Maurice.
            “I think so, don’t you?” said Mable Green.
            Mable rolled down her window, just as the sun came up, lighting the forest and the highway. And with a great flashing of black wings, Maeve drifted down out of the firs to sit on the door beside Mable.
            “Thanks, Mable. Good morning to you!” said Maeve.
            “And a good morning to yourself, Maeve,” said Mable. “I see a fine day coming up!”
            “Indeed,” nodded Maeve.
            “Maybe I’ll see you later sometime, Maurice. It was good to meet you!” said Mable as Maurice climbed out of the old car.
            The forest floor, so cool and damp and springy felt so good on his feet, the air smelled so clean and wild and free, the sun made everything sparkle so brilliantly that Maurice just couldn’t help himself. He howled as he had never howled before in all of his life. It rang and rang over the land, and even into the Great Forest. All the ears for miles around heard and noted that a True Howler was among them.
            When he turned back to speak to Mable, she and the Buick were as gone as if they had never been there. He turned his big gray head one way, looking up the highway and then the other way, looking down towards the town, but it was utterly empty. He sighed a big sigh, and lifted his eyebrows, amazed.
            “Come on, Maurice. He’s waiting,” said Maeve from a branch at about eye level for a Howler. “You know he heard all of that!”
            Maeve floated into the forest and Maurice followed her in.

🌲🐺🌲