CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

IT’S BEEN AN ANIMAL DAY

      It’s been an animal day.

     While I groggily prepared my morning coffee, something caught my eye. I glanced out my window and was amazed to see a small black bear strolling through my driveway. I called my husband Monte, and we watched the bear lumber to the path leading to my daughter’s house.

     I grabbed the phone and called Sandy. She and her husband, Michael, watched the bear approach their yard, meander between her house and the neighbor’s house, return to the path and head back towards our house. At the edge of the driveway it suddenly ran towards the road.  I hadn’t had time to grab my camera. Thus, no pictures.

     I’d heard that black bears were a constant presence in the upper end of Laurel Mountain Borough, our small park-like community. We hadn’t spotted any since spring.

     Bear gone, we settled in to our day’s activities.

     ~~~~~

     I snuggled down on my couch with my coffee, meds, and the newspaper. There was a signed editorial on the editorial page: Bob Pellegrino (Tribune-Review editorial page editor—Greensburg). At the risk of plagiarism, I will post his first two paragraphs:

My three pampered cats, lulled comfortably into inactivity by the welfare state of pet ownership, were supposed to spare me some expense during these challenging financial times by at least keeping our common abode mouse-free.

Well, that didn’t happen. Apparently good living — three squares a day, all the litter they could possibly use plus free health care — has negated what I presumed would be at least instinctual behavior among felines.

(To read the rest of his editorial, click on: http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/opinion/s_651910.html )

     A further fact caught my eye. Two of his cats were New Englanders—from Connecticutt—which explains why they feel entitled. (I, too, am a New Englander, so I can relate). There is no logical explanation as to why the third cat adopted a couple of rodents. After all, she is a Pennsylvanian.

     Bob complains that his cats aren’t mousers. My cat, Honey, didn’t do too well in that department either. Now she’s romping about in animal heaven with police dog Ando (they met the same fate at the same vet, perhaps on the same table, within two weeks time). Since then I have continually been washing towels stored in a drawer where the mice liked to romp. The furnace man, who found evidence of mouse-nesting in our basement, suggested the plug-in devices that make a high pitched sound the rodents dislike. So I invested in six. They seem to be working. I hope I’m right. Perhaps, Bob, you should try them, in spite of the expense. It may be a worthwhile investment.

     Bob, another suggestion. Forget expecting your felines to behave in the prescribed fashion. You are correct: the animal rights groups may come down on you. Perhaps you should redirect your energies to a new cause. Might I suggest ridding communities of feral birds? (FERAL BIRDS: THE LATEST COMMUNITY HAZARD & Eliminate feral birds: A call for political action). After reading my posts on this activist action, might I request that you pass a petition around the Trib office, returning it to me, and I will forward it to the correct politician?

     (By the way, I have been a freelancer with your newspaper since 1995, under Paul Heywood, Ed Cope, Jerry Storey. Moving on to Westmoreland County, I wrote for the Ligonier-Latrobe section, and now submit items to the Ligonier Echo.)

     ~~~~~

     Later, I went to the Internet. There I discovered that cats can catch the swine flu. A “13-year-old feline in Iowa (was) diagnosed with H1N1 after its two owners both came down with the flu. The cat was treated at a veterinary hospital after appearing lethargic, losing its appetite and having trouble breathing…this was the first documented case…consider it a cautionary tale.” (http://buzz.yahoo.com/buzzlog/93160?fp=1 )

     Since I have no cats at present, I’m not concerned. But I love to share other people’s pet felines. How much must I worry about their being contagious?

     ~~~~~

     Tired, I snoozed after lunch until mid-afternoon. I was just waking up when Monte rushed in to put on his shoes.

     “There’s a bird caught in the deer netting (of our garden),” he said. He grabbed a pair of scissors, and I grabbed my shoes and camera. Sure enough, there was a bird in the netting. A big bird.

     “It’s an owl,” Monte said, as he cautiously began to cut the netting wrapped tightly around the bird’s feet. (to view photos click on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4085249240/ & http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4085248082/in/photostream/ &  http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4085247888/in/photostream/) It took a few minutes, and several times the owl flapped its wings wildly. It looked at me as if to say “what’s happening?” It grabbed onto the netting with its beak, so when it was freed it took it a moment to realize it could leave. It flew a few feet and landed on the netting. We thought we would have to free it again, but it took off. It seemed to have trouble getting started.

     “It’s probably pretty exhausted,” Monte said as it gathered steam and became hidden by the trees.

     ~~~~~

     About 8:00 p.m. (E.S.T.) my friend Lois arrived at our house to watch the Pittsburgh Penguins vs. San Jose Sharks hockey game. She had been at her brothers’ house to watch the Breeder’s Cup Classic horse race. Ecstatic and elated, she asked me if I was going to write anything about women’s lib. Girl power. After all, “Zenyatta had won the race!”

Zenyatta, the undefeated five-year-old mare, was taking the ultimate challenge by running against male horses for the first time in her career, on horse racing’s biggest stage. She came from last place to win easily. My husband Monte had also watched the race, and was equally impressed. “This is unbelievable,” said race caller Trevor Denman. “What a performance. One we’ll never forget.”

“She’s better than Rachel Alexandra,” insisted Lois, referring to this year’s other super female thoroughbred. “Zenyatta deserves to be Horse of the Year.”

I was made to watch the race at http://espn.go.com/ before I was allowed to include Zenyatta, the horse, in my “animal day” post. And yes, it was impressive.

     ~~~    

     Black bear. Cat. Cat. Owl. Horse.

     It’s been that kind of a day.

     November 7, 2009. An animal day.

CONTEST ANNOUNCEMENT!

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS is awarding a monthly prize to the reader who makes the most comments at www.carolyncholland.wordpress.com. To enter, comment on any post. The more comments you post, the greater chance you have of winning. For further details click on the page MONTHLY PRIZE FOR COMMENTS at the top of the column to the right. 

ADDITIONAL READING

WHAT RIGHTS DO CATS HAVE, I ASK

BEAR CARNIVAL IN CONNELLSVILLE, PA.

 BEAR CONFRONTATIONS: SAFETY PRECAUTIONS

BEAR STORIES ACROSS THE NATION

ELINOR’S ORPHAN KITLINGS

Honey’s Coming Home! Our cat must recuperate

Honey went home—She’s romping in animal heaven

THE SNITTY CAT LIKES PUMPKIN PIE?

YOU MEAN THIS NEW ENGLANDER IS A WESTSYLVANIAN?

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

CONTEST ANNOUNCEMENT!

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS is awarding a monthly prize to the reader who makes the most comments at www.carolyncholland.wordpress.com. To enter, comment on any post. The more comments you post, the greater chance you have of winning. For further details click on the page MONTHLY PRIZE FOR COMMENTS at the top of the column to the right. 

SPORTS VS. SOAPS: Television Addiction

Nancy Briskay Cornell Lipsius

     Have you ever walked into a room anticipating an enthusiastic greeting and some lively conversation, only to be greeted by a blank wall of inert bodies, eyes glued to a piece of furniture lighted by miniature figures darting across a square that might be anywhere from 12 inches to 25 inches wide? If you listen carefully and closely their response to your greeting may be a ‘oomph’ or “Oh wow, what a play!”

     It could be Saturday, Sunday, or, in mid-fall and winter, almost any evening. Of course, that doesn’t leave much time during the week for anything else other than working, a quick trip to the store and maybe church on Sunday morning. Not to mention showering, shaving and eating. Of course, most television game addicts will eat in front of the television.

     What happens to people who are television game addicts?

     First, we have to go to the live games. Seeing a group of live people in competition for a football, baseball or hockey puck or soccer ball creates emotional extremes. When your team is winning, you are enthusiastically screaming, cheering. Your body and mind are exposed to healthy fresh air and exercise. The game players become known to you by name, number and actions. They are real flesh and blood.

     Games on television become emotional inhibitors. The smoke filled rooms, darkened to accommodate the TV screen, further inhibits physical and vocal enthusiasm. The TV viewers become lethargic and seem to develop a tunnel vision. Spontaneity is not part of the game of TV viewing. What, then, can one find of interest in such a narrowed-down outlook?

      Soap operas are another area of television that seem to create addicts. I am sure that everyone has a friend or two whose lives are structured around the soaps. They cannot talk on the phone during their programs and certainly one cannot visit with them during that most crucial time. The soap fans become so totally immersed and involved in the lives of the players on the TV screen that they talk about them as though they were real people. Their involvements are with total unreality. They, too, are peering through a tunnel.

     Where is the interaction between the viewers and the players? How would it change the life of a viewer were he/she to become involved in the lives of family, friends, or, on a broader spectrum, involvement with neighborhood or community projects. On the other hand, there are times when a soap addict might try solitude, getting involved with self.

     My feelings are mixed with regards to television addicts, be it sports or soaps. On the one hand, frustration raises its ugly head because I can get no real response from a person whose very soul is wedded to the outcome of a football, baseball, soccer or hockey game, or the daily trials and tribulations of a group of characters in a contrived situation.

     And then I feel sympathy for the addict, sympathy for all that he/she is missing out of life. For the life that is boxed into that person, strangling his very soul.

     Not all television viewing is evil. Like eating, smoking, drinking and other habits, it is the person who is in control of the television who can be moderate and selective about his/her viewing. It is only when the television controls the life of the person that it becomes evil.

     There is no real joy in sharing a game on television. It is only an electronic box and one cannot become emotionally involved with the players shown on a piece of furniture. One’s presence at a real live game stimulates emotional involvement, both with the players and the spectators.

     The same holds forth with the soaps. Emotional involvement with the actors on the screen is an affair of perhaps an hour. There is no feedback. It is one-sided. There is no physical or emotional involvement.

     I have tried both types of television viewing, sports and soaps, and after only a few moments I find myself growing bored, lethargic. In no time at all sleep creeps up on me.

     Perhaps that only says that I am tired. However, I am afraid I would not like television to grow on me. My preference is to become addicted to participation.

ADDITIONAL READING:

Take Me Out to the Ball Game…So Reluctantly I Go

Honus Wagner & Me

Three Women Wildly Battle With UNO Cards

Climb Mt. Everest? Not Me!

What is a Mantua Maker?

Should your cat be kept indoors or outdoors?

Nicole

We’re Adopting a Baby! Part 1

Staycation Day Trip: Somerset County, PA

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

CLIMB MT. EVEREST? NOT ME!

     High at the top of my list of the things I won’t accomplish in this lifetime is joining the minority part of humanity, an estimated 2,000 persons, who successfully scaled Mount Everest. Climbers, including a 71-year-old Japanese man, a climber with an artificial leg, and a teenaged boy, have reached the summit since 1953.

     In 2007 more than “239 people had already climbed the 8,850 metre (29,035 feet) summit from the Nepali side and the rest from Tibet,” according to Sherpa. The previous record was 470 people who made their journey in the 2006 spring climbing season.
     Historians say that many people have conquered the summit more than once, meaning that the number of ascents is likely much higher than 2,000. At least 202 people have died trying to reach the top. (To read this article click on http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070531/india_nm/india300836)

     Living in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains I do climb Laurel Mountain on a regular basis (click on http://www.travellady.com/Issues/June05/1522LaurelHighlands.htm). That is, I drive or ride up the twisty paved road to the top of the mountain, which is close to 3,000 foot high and is part of the well-worn, rounded-off Laurel Ridge. Usually my trek is to take visitors to the Flight 93 Crash Site, the Flight 93 Memorial Chapel, the Quecreek Mine site and the Coal Miner’s Café. (click on FLIGHT 93 CRASH SITE MEMORIAL, or visit www.carolyncholland.wordpress.com  and scroll down the category Laurel Highlands to read Flight 93 Memorial Chapel 5^th Anniversary)

I even did a story on a hiker walking the Lincoln Highway (Rt. 30) from New York City to San Francisco. I met him as he finished his descent down Laurel Mountain (click on HIKING THE LINCOLN HIGHWAY Part 1 of 2

    On a beautiful October day in 2006 I managed to climb Schoodic Mountain in Hancock County, Maine. At numerous points I thought we’d reached the top, then looked around the bend to see the next level. The trails were narrow and gravelly, so footing was a problem. During the climb, I compared what we were experiencing to the experience of Madame Rosalie de Leval, who climbed this very same mountain in October 1791. A French émigré, she was a land speculator with Henry Jackson and William Duer. She climbed Schoodic Mountain to survey her “promised land.” (Madame is the main character in the historical romance novel I am attempting to write. Read her profile at Madame Rosalie de la Val: A Character Sketch) (to read about my climbing adventure click on OH, TO CLIMB SCHOODIC MOUNTAIN (Maine))

     It was another beautiful day when I found myself in the German (Bavarian) Alps. We were visiting my son, a postgraduate student in Munich, for two weeks. I’d done my homework, so I knew what I wanted to do while I was there. Two adventures I wanted were to visit a farm overnight and to visit the top of a mountain. Time constraints caused us to choose, so I chose the farm.

     We arrived at the farm after dark. While walking from the bus to the farm, lo and behold, we saw lights marking a mountain! We had picked a farm at the base of Wahlberg Mountain. The next morning we walked to the lift cars that would take us to the top. When we arrived I understood the magic of the mountains in The Sound of Music.

     In the midst of the top of the alps there were actually peaks! Rolling oceans of peaks. We drank in the view—including that of Tegensee Lake below us.

Monte proceeded to climb the final level to the top. I hiked part way up, but wasn’t courageous to do the final lap.

     I made good use of my camera. At one point, I wanted to take a picture of the lake between the grasses, which meant I had to lower myself to their level. I looked up to see a man kind staring at my prone body and mischievously said, “What can you expect? I’m an American!” Monte just rolled his eyes!

     Other mountain climbings fill my journals. Monte and I drove to the top of Mt. Washington on our honeymoon and forty years later drove up Cadillac Mountain on Mount Desert Island in Maine.

     Yet, I have no desire to climb Mt. Everest. I will vicariously enjoy the view from the top through magnificent photographs taken by others brave enough to make the assent. Meanwhile, I can enjoy my memories, different for each experience, and my own photographs.

ADDITIONAL READING:

RUSS’S ASSIGNMENT: WRITE CAROLYN’S EULOGY Lent Devotion

SOUTHWESTERN PENNSYLVANIANS DRINK MOXIE: Do They Like It?

YOU MEAN THIS NEW ENGLANDER IS A WESTSYLVANIAN?

Staycation Day Trip: Somerset County, PA

Compagnie du Scioto Meeting at Café le Procope: Novel #3A

Compagnie du Scioto Meeting at Cafe le Procope (Novel #3B)

IN NEW ENGLAND, HISTORY CONFLICTS WITH PROGRESS

IN SEARCH OF THE ARABELLA: A Story of Two Boats

IS THIS “CHEERS?”

The Isles of Shoals: Beauty, Mystery, Intrigue

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

WHAT IS A MANTUA MAKER

     A newspaper article about skillfully creating imaginative Halloween costumes reminded me of past days when I made our family’s Trick or Treat and Halloween parade outfits. It also reminded me of the hours I spent sewing clothes for my family—I believe the “hat” I wore back then was known as “seamstress.” Tailor might have been an appropriate title also, since I made suits for my husband and son, and coats for myself.

     These memories came to mind when I came across the term “mantuamaker” in the book A Midwife’s Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard Based on Her Diary,  1785-1812*. Just what was a mantuamaker, I wondered, as I moved myself over to the Internet to find out.

     Mantuas, a loose gown worn by women, in the 17^th and 18^th century, were called a mantie or mantua, from the French word manteau.***

     Mantua makers are found on the United States census between 1790 and 1910. However, their history evolves much earlier, according to one web site***. The very last Boston woman to claim the title of mantuamaker in the city directory pages was Rebecca Goodwin Major, who closed her shop in 1845.****

     The mantua, which became stylish in the 1600s, was somewhat fitted in spite of its looseness. It was worn over a petticoat and was open down the front. A true mantua does not have a separate skirt and top, but uses a single piece of fabric from the shoulder to the floor. Their construction is quite tricky, using few, if any, cuts. Depending on the style of the day, the fabric could be longer in the back, almost train-like. Its open front exposed the shirt of the lightweight petticoat, often made of silk. It was often worn with a stomacher, an elaborate, decorated, ornamental piece shaped in a V, which created the illusion of a slim waist.

     Although this style may have begun as a casual garment, it was usually constructed of sumptuous material, eg. damask or brocade, and worn for dressy occasions. ***

     Of course, mantuas were sewn by mantua makers.

     During the mantua’s popularity, women gained the legal right to produce them. Previously, the law only allowed women to make underwear, while only tailors were allowed to make upper class clothing and corsets. ***** By the mid-1800s, the women-owned businesses were listed in business directories across America as mantua makers, even though, by this time, the shops no longer made mantuas. Eventually these seamstresses began calling themselves dressmakers,** and the term mantua maker faded from American culture.

     By the mid-1800s, American towns listed mantua makers in their business directory. Mantua makers existed as women-owned businesses. The women set up shop as dressmakers under the mantua title, even though they no longer made dressy gowns.

     At one time, I made fancy dresses for a client—a gold lame piano recital dress (graduate school), a wedding dress, and bridesmaid dressed. I figure that that made me akin to a mid-1800s mantua maker.Today I do little work that can be defined as mantua making or dressmaking. However, my wardrobe still contains items from my seamstress days, back when I never knew the term mantua maker.

SOURCES:

*A Midwife’s Tale by Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

**http://www.ibiblio.org/fiddlers/DEV_DHU.htm

***http://www.ancestry.com/learn/library/article.aspx?article=10647

****http://forum-network.org/lecture/last-mantua-maker-women-bostons-clothing-trades

*****http://blog.debsalisbury.com/2009/06/mantua-maker.html

ADDITIONAL READING:

1790′S PAMPHLETEERING VERSUS 2000′S BLOGGING

IN NEW ENGLAND, HISTORY CONFLICTS WITH PROGRESS

CAUGHT BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

FROM THE BASTILLE TO CINDERELLA

History reridden—The Pony Express

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

A  JACK-O-LANTERN INTERVIEW

During our October Beanery Writers Group meeting a Halloween prompt was given out: You are the star reporter for Halloween Headline, and you’ve just landed an interview with Casper the Friendly Ghost. Write out 20 questions to ask during the interview. Responses from members of the group are posted at:

I decided to change the character being interviewed from Casper the Friendly Ghost to a Jack-O-Lantern. Below is my list of interview questions.

Now I need to locate a Jack-O-Lantern who is willing to be interviewed. If you are a willing Jack-O-Lantern, please contact me with your information in the comment box at the end of this post.

Where were you planted and harvested? Was it in a cabbage patch?

What is your best memory of your life in the pumpkin patch?

What is your worst experience while living in the pumpkin patch?

Did you get enough food and drink while you were developing and growing?

Do you like being orange? Or would you prefer to be white like your Lunar relative? (link)

Why are you called a Jack-O-Lantern? Who gave you that name?If you could choose your own name, what would it be?

How did it feel to be cut up? (to view photo, click on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4048933270/in/photostream/)

Did the perpetrators who carved you save your seeds? If so, did they intenD to eat them or plant them in the spring?

Are you happy with the design the pumpkin carvers gave you? If not, how would you have had them carve you?

Are the candles that are lit inside your carved body burn you?

Do you fear being tossed into the road like the pumpkin on the next porch was?

Would you rather have been cooked and seasoned into a pumpkin pie?

Describe your path from seed to Jack-O-Lantern.

What do you see your future being?

What are your thoughts on death?

If you are reincarnated, what would you like to come back to life as?

Do you feel comfortable being a part of the pagan celebration of Halloween?

If any readers would like to list additional questions, please do so in the comment box below.

If any Jack-O-Lanterns reading this post would like to answer any or all of the above questions, please feel free to do so in the comment box below.

ADDITIONAL READING:

Halloween Night

True Love

THE KILLER KITTEN

THE HAUNTED CABIN IN THE WOODS

JOURNEY’S END 

Ghostly white pumpkins of the Lunar variety

Interviewing Casper the Friendly Ghost

THE SNITTY CAT LIKES PUMPKIN PIE?

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

GHOSTLY WHITE PUMPKINS OF THE LUNAR VARIETY

Pumpkins have become the Christmas trees of fall festivals, the Easter bunnies of Halloween. From jack-o’-lanterns to the formal centerpiece, pumpkins are a focal point of autumn.*

     The discerning autumn bride doesn’t decorate her reception table with just any pumpkin. She places intermixes floral arrangements with traditional orange pumpkins and the Lunar pumpkin, which delight and intrigue her wedding guests.

     If you’ve never seen the Lunar pumpkin you will probably react with disbelief when told about the white beauty with hints of blue on its skin.

     I discovered the Lunar pumpkin at the Green Mead Farm in Ligonier Township, run by Rick and Betty Cairns. There is where the spooky pumpkin can be purchased to grace local Halloween and/or fall decorations.

     Rick, who is constantly on the outlook for new pumpkin varieties, discovered the white pumpkin, “somewhere,” and decided to experiment with growing it. He said he doesn’t “plant that many (white pumpkins) but I get rid of (sells) those I do plant.”

     “We grew a few the first year,” Betty Cairns said about the pumpkin that grows on vines scattered about their fields, intermingled with the traditional orange pumpkin. (to view photo, click on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4048937826/ )

“They’ve grown in popularity every year. Certain people come just for the white pumpkins.”

     Except for their color, the Lunar pumpkin is more similar than different from other pumpkins. They are just as easy to grow, and the vines produce the same number of multiple blooms and pumpkins that ripen in 100 days.

     “Ripeness is determined by color. They are pretty much pure white—not greenish. If they mature too much they almost get a bluish tint,” Rick said. (to view photo, click on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4048192677/in/photostream/ )

     The white pumpkins rival traditional pumpkins in taste, according to Betty, who uses them for cookies and brownies.

     Rick’s mother, Grace Cairns, uses them to make pies. “I’m a cook, but not gourmet cook,” she said, “but I do like to cook with pumpkin. I use the Lunar pumpkin in all my pumpkin pies. There’s not really a different taste.” She also uses the it in bread and “that’s about it”

     “They have a better texture—they’re creamier and easier to mash and cook,” she said.

     Betty said that the meat of the Lunar pumpkin “is not very stringy. It is good and solid.” However, she concedes that their skin is thicker than that on the orange pumpkins. She usually asks her husband Bud Cairns to help slice it.

     “The riper they are the easier they are to cut,” she noted. “I cut them into quarters and put them in the microwave and scrape the meat from the skins.”

     I tested this idea with several young boys, Jared (then 16), Dylan (then 11) and Logan (then 9), challenging them to transform a Lunar pumpkin into a Jack-O-Lantern. The younger boys watched as Jared struggled to cut the top off of his pumpkin, finally succeeding and being rewarded with a view of the insides plentiful seed supply and orange meat. He needed to work diligently to cut a ghost shape from the side of the pumpkin (to view photo, click on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4048933332/in/photostream/.

     The younger boys discovered it is much easier to carve orange pumpkins. The white pumpkin’s tough skin was too much of a challenge for them. They finally handed Jared the cutting tools to complete cutting a traditional pumpkin face. (to view photo, click on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4048933270/in/photostream/

     Betty doesn’t know if the pumpkins are available anyplace else in the area because she’s never seen them for sale. She does know they are available in eastern Pennsylvania.

     Monte and I also discovered that they are available in New England. When we travel there in the autumn months, we see them along the Atlantic coast roadways between “Downeast” Maine (to view photo, click on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4048188685/in/photostream/)

and Rhode Island (to view photo click on: http://www.flickr.com/photos/carolyncholland/4048937534/in/photostream/ ).

     Ligonier Valley residents are fortunate to have a local supply of Lunar pumpkins. Carved, they add a ghostly decoration for Halloween. Cooked, they make delicious pumpkin pies for the Thanksgiving dinner table.

*From article for the Georgia Extension Service, written by Terry Kelly

ADDITIONAL READING:

Halloween Night

True Love

THE KILLER KITTEN

THE HAUNTED CABIN IN THE WOODS

JOURNEY’S END

THE SNITTY CAT LIKES PUMPKIN PIE?

ADDITIONAL READING:

WISDOM FROM A CHILD TO A GRANDPARENT

We’re Adopting a Baby! Part 1

Nicole

JOCHEBED & LUCY: STORIES OF ADOPTION AND MOTHER’S LOVE

Little Ears Are Listening

YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW

True Love

G-20 Poem

AT FORT LIGONIER: Excerpt from book, WARPATH

Grandparents, homemade cookies, & licking cream off milkcaps

Should your cat be kept indoors or outdoors?

Nicole

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

SHOULD YOUR CAT BE KEPT INDOORS OR OUTDOORS?

      A Humane Society I researched estimated that feral cats have a life expectancy of five years, while indoor, cared for, cats live as long as seventeen years.

     How long does a cared-for house cat with outside privileges live?

     In August, our about-sixteen year old cat Honey died (to read her story, click on: Honey’s Coming Home! Our cat must recuperate & Honey went home—She’s romping in animal heaven). She lived her life happily as an outdoor cat, as did many or our cats which lived long lives, fifteen years and more.

     Virtually all cat shelters have a non-flexible clause in their cat adoption papers that requires their charges to be indoor pets.

     Honey lived with us for six years after we retired to our Laurel Mountain Borough (PA) home. She was a lucky cat. We live in a borough with one hundred ten residences, about 85% used year round. Our house is on a dead end street in a community surrounded by protected lands—including thirty-five acres of forestry land.

     She was also lucky in that she ended up with two homes. If we were not home, she knew to go to my daughter’s house for her needs.

     Honey pretty much stayed on our property, exploring the close neighbor’s yards on occasion. She was always easy to find—snoozing under a tree, sunning on a rock…and she was always on our back porch at eleven o’clock at night to sleep cuddled up in my arms.

     To have deprived her of the outside territory would have, in my estimation, been cruel.

     Shelters believe their policy of keeping cats indoors if founded on solid ground. I am reminded about a phone conversation I had with Ellie, the head of a regional organization that rescues cats. In a somewhat sickly sweet voice I was told that the cats they placed for adoption were required to be indoor cats. She explained part of the reason: “in part, when we give someone a cat they have been tested for feline leukemia and aids. If they were allowed outdoors, they would be re-exposed for these diseases.”

     Ellie acknowledged that the decision to place cats only where they will be kept indoors is, in part, “based, a lot, on our personal feelings that cats going outside have a much higher mortality rate.” Cars, coyotes, foxes—there are a lot of things that are natural enemies for the cats.”

     Even people threaten cats. “There’s always the person living next door that has access to antifreeze. They are more than willing to sometimes share it with a cat.

     “The only way you can be sure everything will go OK for cat is to keep it inside as a pampered housekitty. Most cats think they are royalty anyway.”

     Throughout the conversation, I felt uneasy. Something didn’t make sense. What was it?

     While mulling over the issues the answer flashed at me. I reviewed each point in my mind.

     Outside cats risk disease.

     Everyone knows that the first time children attend day care or school they not only risk exposure to disease, but they incur more sickness. Should we require that parents keep children in the house to reduce their exposure to illness? They might be healthier and have a longer life.

     Outside cats risk getting injured or hit by cars.

     Thousands of children risk being injured or killed by cars. Should we require they be kept inside the house to reduce the danger and protect them? What happens when a wild car jumps the curb and hits them? One of my friends lost her fiancée this way.

     Outside cats risk being poisoned by neighbors or being attacked by wild animals.

     Children risk being attacked or abducted by violent predators, man or other animals. If we truly cared for them, we would keep them indoors to protect them. But then, don’t children get attacked and abducted in their own homes?

     Outside cats are at risk of injury from fights from with other felines.

     How many children are injured by their classmates or neighbor children? Perhaps we should require that children remain isolated from their peers.

     In spite of the extreme emotions that cat issues can evoke, reason must prevail.

     I don’t oppose cats being kept inside. Circumstances often dictate this action. When we moved from a four acre premise with a stand of woods behind it, to a house on a major highway without a yard, we had to convert our cats from outdoor beasts to indoor pets. They never adjusted—but it was a necessary change.

     But I do wonder…cats who never experience the out of doors often are afraid to venture into nature. What happens if there is a fire? Will the feline fear exiting the house so much that it will perish inside rather than overcome its fear?

     One recommendation for protecting cats is to create an outside run, or leash them to a porch railing, as my former neighbor did (to read her story, click on ELINOR’S ORPHAN KITLINGS). If a caretaker did that to a child, the child protective service officials would immediately confront you. Perhaps these officials would remove the children from your care.

     Cats that can reasonably be outdoor cats—eg. those living in country settings, or cats adopted with a history of being outdoors, should have the opportunity to continue their lifestyle. If the cat is adopted as a very young kitten, it will never know what it’s missing when it is kept indoors. In either case, a consideration of the animal’s past and its environment should direct its owner to the best choice for everyone.

     And consider the question: DO WE TREAT OUR CATS BETTER THAN WE TREAT OUR CHILDREN?

ADDITIONAL READING:

WHAT RIGHTS DO CATS HAVE, I ASK

THE SNITTY CAT LIKES PUMPKIN PIE?

The “Meow” Chorus: A cat symphony on a Greyhound Bus

FERAL BIRDS: THE LATEST COMMUNITY HAZARD

Vicious dog or man’s best friend?

THE AMAZING BEAVER

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

NICOLE

NANCY BRISKAY CORNELL LIPSIUS

This poem was written about a grandchild that lived only an hour.

You lived

One hour, sixty minutes, 3600 seconds,

An infinitesimal eternity.

You were your mother reborn,

A minute reflection of your father.

Warm, soft, serene, quiet, without

Struggle or lusty cry.

Untouched by the lights,

Harsh, glaring, white-hot fingers

Probing, remote corners of your being,

Accentuating the stark white ‘neath your body,

Not so much cleanness, but purity.

You seemed

To be sleeping, unaware of your nakedness,

Or the photographer, an agitated spider

Hopping about,

Clicking, positioning, endlessly clicking.

Deaf to the hustle and bustle, the clang

And clatter of busy-ness

You welcomed

The comfort of my arms.

Nestled against the warmth of my breast

You swelled the ragged emptiness of my heart.

You knew me

As the link to your beginning,

Your ending.

You gave me

Momentary joy, eternal sadness,

A sense of longing,

A fleeting glimpse of the Core of your Being.

In the passing of your spirit

You taught me

Joy and sorrow, hand in hand.

 ADDITIONAL READING:

We’re Adopting a Baby! Part 1

And who will reach the downtrodden? Lent Devotion #18

WHERE ARE YOU NOW?

FIRST, DO NO HARM…THE SULEMAN OCTUPLET CASE

WISDOM FROM A CHILD TO A GRANDPARENT

CAROLYN’S COMPOSITIONS

WE’RE ADOPTING A BABY! Part 4

Conclusion

 Part 4 will conclude the post series, We’re Adopting a Baby! To read Part 1, Part 2 and/or Part 3 of this post, click on: We’re Adopting a Baby! Part 1 & We’re Adopting a Baby! Part 2 & We’re Adopting a Baby! Part 3

     Our own adoption home-study had proven a difficult experience for me. My caseworker didn’t like me very much. I believe she felt threatened by the fact that I was doing adoption home-studies myself, in spite of the fact that she had forty years of experience to my being a newbie. The only saving grace was that she adored Monte. He could, and did, say things that might be prejudicial against our acceptance, with impunity. For example, he stated that the only reason he was following through on the adoption plan was to please me. I kicked him under the table.

     My shakiness at being accepted as an adoptive parent was relieved by my boss, with whom I discussed the situation. She assured me that I needn’t worry. If we were denied by Catholic Social Services, we could apply to her agency, and we would be successful. This path would offer a unique experience: I would end up doing most of my own home-study. However, this was not necessary.

     It was a gorgeous June day. The strawberries were ripe in the fields. My friend, Shirl, and I decided to travel to a farm she knew about in Ohio, where customers could pick their own strawberries. We planned to can and freeze some, and to use others to make strawberry jam. We left early in the day for the hour’s drive to our destination.

     Around Memorial Day, the caseworker from Catholic Social Services had called us. There was a baby girl, she said. Since she weighed only four pounds eleven ounces, she had to remain in the hospital until she reached five pounds. I’d heard nothing since, and had resisted bugging the agency while waiting.

     However, by the time we went strawberry picking, I had reached a level of impatience. I told Shirl I planned on calling the agency when we returned home.

     At three o’clock I called them.

     “We’ve been trying to reach you all day,” the caseworker said. “If we had reached you, you could have picked up your baby today. Now it will have to wait until tomorrow.”

     I put on my best whine, combined with a professional voice.

     “You know I plan on breastfeeding her. Every bottle she gets makes it less likely we will succeed. Can’t we pick her up today?”

     The agency director became involved. Yes, we could go to Pittsburgh right away. However, there was no staff person available to accompany us.

     It took us an hour to get to Pittsburgh. I carried a small blue dress given to us by someone who knew about dressing extra tiny newborns.

     When we arrived at the institution where we were to pick Sandy up, we had to watch a staff member in a glass-walled room dress her. We weren’t allowed to do that task.

     Enroute home, Sandy lay on my lap (it was the day before car seats). I examined her tiny fingers and toes. When we arrived home, I introduced her to the two college students who rented a room in our house.

     Then she began to fuss. I retreated to an empty room, and attempted to nurse her, not expecting much success since she’d been bottle-fed for two and a half weeks. I was so surprised when she latched right on and ate like a trooper! We were blessed, to have her and to meet her needs through nursing.

     We were also blessed to have students renting a room who happily took on the task of preparing thirty-five quarts of strawberries for our freezer. Otherwise, they would have been forgotten in the joy of bringing new life into our family. 

ADDENDUM: Sandy is an adult now, closing in on forty years old. She lives next door to us, with her daughter and second husband.

ADDITIONAL READING:

FROM A FIRST DATE TO A 42nd ANNIVERSARY

A FATHER-DAUGHTER REUNION

PENNSYLVANIA WEDDING, (LAMOINE) MAINE ROOTS

Two Photographers Named Cornell

THE OLIVE GREEN DRESS