Tag Archives: the cat

The Way of the Cat

17 Jan

Time out for a bit of silliness.

This morning the cat sat in front of the water dish and yelled pitifully. The dish was full, so I ignored him. He came into the bathroom with me, and proceeded to drink from the spigot while I brushed my teeth.

The Squire came down for breakfast, and Eddie followed him into the kitchen to complain, alternately sitting in front of his dish and trying to climb The Squire’s trousers.

The Squire went over to the dish and discovered a piece of brown leaf, about the size of a nickel,  floating in the water. Once he pulled it out and showed it to the cat, Eddie sat down with a huge sigh and drank as if he hadn’t had water in days!



Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity-Jog

28 Sep
Just to let you that know I am, as a former rector used to say, upright and taking nourishment. Got home shortly after noon, went to the bathroom while The Squire fixed the sofa bed, and fell asleep on the commode. He fixed me a cup of coffee, and tucked me into bed. My hearing is very, very sharp, but I slept through the long-case clock beside the living room door striking every fifteen minutes, so I must have been just plain dead to the world.
I slept until Brian, my boss, came over around 3:15 with a bouquet of pink roses, ferns, and ornamental grasses from their garden. Sweet of him. Nobody can sleep through the doorbell and Blazer barking!
The surgeon went in through the front, so I have a huge bandage between my Adam’s apple and my chin. Because he was cutting so close to my spinal cord, there was a lady doing a constant EMG on my scalp, arms, and legs to make sure things were still working as they should. Plastic disc to replace the mashed “real” one, with a titanium plate – all MRI compatible, so they tell us. One nice thing this hospital does is ask you how you’d like to be addressed, rather than automatically calling you by you bare-nekkid first name. I just find being called “Anne” by somebody young enough to be my grandchild patronising.  So, Mrs Rice is was.
Being pampered by The Squire, bothered by the cat, and observed by the dog. Sofa bed is low enough he can poke me with his nose. Fortunately, he couldn’t reach my face. Took a pain pill about ten minutes ago, and it has hit bottom.
Oh, and I can’t talk. As you can imagine that is a problem. We have a dinner bell (don’t ask) and The Squire can’t hear high-pitched sounds, so if something goes wrong I’ll have hope Blazer remembers how to Go Get Poppa. He claimed he was going to watch TV, but I have the feeling he is checking his eyelids for pinholes. We got up at 5AM to be at the hospital by 6, and while I got a nap, of sorts, he’s been on his feet all day.
Speaking of the dog – normally when I come home after the shortest of trips, he is all over me. If not jumping on me, he is pawing at my legs, whompping my legs with his tail, and generally getting underfoot, but today, other than a few very thorough sniffs, he has been very gentle and “non-invasive”. How do dogs know these things? The cat, on the other hand…

A Banner Year

3 Sep

banner 1Back in September 1983, my godson’s father designed a banner for  our parish, and the Squire and I made it up. I did the banner itself, and The Squire made the pole and the crosspiece from black walnut.

It has hung in the church, undisturbed, ever since.

The Diocese of Maryland has elected a new Bishop Suffragan, and each parish has been “invited” to bring their banner to carry in the consecration procession on the 6th. When we moved the banner, we discovered the back was badly faded. I took it up to Joann’s Fabric to see what I could find to recover it. I knew matching exactly was not going to be possible, but since nobody could see the back and front at the same time, close enough was good enough.

banner fade While I had the thing down, I realized that a lot of the black and gold braid was coming loose, so I cranked up the sewing machine and ran along most of the braid, to tack it down. When I had a fair amount of it done, I flipped it over onto the ironing board (remember those?) and made the revolting discovery that some of the fabric had not been flat, and I had great tucks and puckers on the backside, and the banner didn’t hang straight. I pulled out some of the stitching, but my bum right hand made that more difficult than I was willing to tolerate, so I just snipped some of the tucks and ironed the thing flat. It was going to be covered anyway, so it was not a life or death situation.

banner helpI spread the banner on our bed and sat cross-legged to pin and sew the new backing . Of course, dear Sir Edmund decided I needed his “help”. I put him out once, but he sat outside of the door, clawing at the carpet and hollering his head off, until I let him back into the room.

Folded my tent – and the banner – and decamped to the church, where I was able to lay it on a Sunday School table, and got it finished and hung in less than an hour. Looks good, if I say so myself.