Knight in Shining Armor

Today my cousin came to my rescue when I found a bee in our grandparent’s kitchen window. I have never gotten along with that certain insect. Ever since I was a kid, and I got stung by one, I have tried my best to avoid them.

I had heard a buzzing, like a large fly against glass, coming from the kitchen multiple times. Every time I went to point it out to W. the buzzing would stop. Giving up on trying to get him to hear it as well, I stood up to get a glass of juice from the kitchen. Just as I entered the room, I spotted a large bee crawling across the window pane. Quickly I backed away, and asked my cousin to come into the kitchen. When he took the two steps into the room, and I pointed out the flying insect, all he did was ask me what I wanted him to do about it.

I explained that I would be very grateful if he could get a paper towel and take care of the bug. He complied, having to wait a short moment for the bee to fall down the window pane again so he could actually reach it. When he went to flush the bundle, I assume because he moved pass the trash can and towards the bathroom, the now very angry bee stung him through the paper towel. My grandpa joined us in the kitchen shortly after, and had to take five swings to get the bee to give up.

I know we are supposed to be saving the bees, but can you really get upset with the situation when there is no way to get the insect back outside again with the rest of bee kind? Personally, I am not a fan of inside bugs, so most of those that find themselves inside the same building as me, end up in the same situation as this bee. RIP Bee…

Fear’s Power

Fear has this insane ability to cripple us. Nothing truly brings you to your knees like a true phobia. I will never claim to be fearless because my phobias certainly make me look like a total wimp when they arise in my life. Needles, spiders, and falling, seem to rule my life sometimes.

I was 18 before I could muster up enough courage to get my ears pierced. I had already graduated high school and was preparing for my first year of college before I decided that I wanted to wear pretty and fun earrings more than I feared the event that would make that possible. Sitting in the chair at Claire’s I felt pretty silly. I know I should have gone to a real professional to get it done, but we were in the mall and I decided spur of the moment to get it done and over with.

I had seen little girls just hop into the chair and not even flinch when they got their first or even second holes. My fear had me shaking and begging me to chicken out again just like I had every other time I had tried. Starting at age six my godmother tried to take me several times to get my ears pierced, but I couldn’t make it past the colored marker making dots on the skin to make sure they were even on both sides. (On a side note, I had my ears pierced for almost a year before I even managed to remember to tell my God mother that I had finally done it. Sorry.)

When I finally sat down in the chair I asked if they could have another person come over and help so both sides could get done at the same time. That way it would be over quicker. While they set that up, I picked out some starter earrings that had my birthstone on them. By the count of three it was over with and I was being told about after care instructions.

The relief that I felt afterwards was pretty euphoric. I was sort of dizzy and not paying that much attention to the world around me. All I wanted to do was pose for pictures that I could then send to my friends to show them that I finally had done it and could wear pretty earrings.

Looking back, I really wish I had just faced my fear and gotten my ears pierced earlier in life, like those other little girls. Then I could have worn fancy earrings to my high school dances and on the few dates I actually have been on. Learning that I can’t change the past and I just need to live with my life story has been an interesting journey for me. I guess this is just one more quirk that makes me unique.

Introducing Erza

On November 19th, 2019 I lost my childhood cat Smokey. Smokey was incredibly special to me and losing her hit me particularly hard. For the first bit I was processing my grief, I noticed that I was mostly missing the small moments of companionship that Smokey had shared with me. The solution that my Mom found was to chose another companion in the form of another cat.

Exactly two weeks after losing Smokey, my mom picked me up from campus. I was in college at the time. We headed for the local humane society and asked to see the kittens that they had at the shelter. Due to the amount they had living there, they had dedicated a room to house the kittens.

I was first to get to the door, so I opened it. The moment the door was open far enough one of the kittens vaulted over the baby gate that was supposed to prevent them from leaving the room in one large group. While the shelter employee and my mom corralled the escapee, I continued into the room.

Several kittens looked up at me and a few others were trying to hide. There were several different types of cat, from long to short hair, and several different colors. Maybe it was the contrast from Smokey, who looked like a Siamese, I was looking for, or maybe just loving the incredible colors, but I found myself reaching for the calicos. (Calico cats have black, white, and orange coloring on their fur, that is featured in blocks of colors, not mixed.)

The first calico I picked up, even though I didn’t know it at the time, was the kitten that had tried to escape. Apparently when she had gotten out of the room she made a bee line for the front door like she was trying to run away from the shelter. The moment I got her into my arms she started purring. I felt this instant connection with this tiny life.

On the inside of the door was a list of the kittens in the room. The list included their names, ages, and identifying features. Looking on the list I managed to place a name with the five month old kitten in my arms, Erza. At first I read it as Ezra, which makes me laugh now, and I had to read her name at least three times before I realized the letters were correct but I had mispronounced her name. Even through the name issues, Erza was still purring and making herself comfy in my arms.

I tried my best to really consider my options, considering how many kittens there was to choose from, but I had this connection growing with Erza as she purred in my arms. So I informed my mom and the shelter employee of my choice.

That connection that I could feel starting with Erza, was very similar to the bond that I had with Smokey. Maybe it is wishful thinking, but I think Smokey played a part in getting Erza and me together. She told Erza that her family was coming and that is why Erza jumped the gate. Doesn’t hurt that Erza has proven to be very curious about the world.

We ended up taking home a second kitten from the shelter as well as Erza. This kitty ended up bonding with my brother and is named Gobi, like the desert. My mom couldn’t leave Gobi at the shelter because in the viewing window, he was trying his best to show how much he just wanted love.

Erza, Gobi, and Gobi’s litter mate Pho, that we had adopted from Pet Smart a few days before, are now three years old and will be four in June. They explore and play all the time. I am beyond grateful for Erza and all the healing she has helped me through.

The Power of Stories

Growing up I would always hear my Grandpa, better known as Papa, tell these incredible stories that just had people hanging off his every word. He could make people laugh and make them have a great day just by telling these stories about his life. Those stories are some of my best memories. Because of him, I learned the power of telling stories.

One afternoon at the annual family reunion I saw the usual circle of family telling jokes and stories back and forth, making everyone laugh. So I walked up to my Papa and asked if I could give it a shot. I took a deep breath and told my story.

I was around ten years old and visiting my grandparents at the family cabin. Standing at the end of the dock, I was holding on to a fishing pole, trying my best to actually catch something. I took a step forward without realizing that I really was at the very end of the dock. Falling into the water, I was at least grateful that I was wearing my swim suit. When I finally got out of the water and retrieved the fishing rod, I found out that my uncle had caught a blue gill. Turns out that he couldn’t do the whole catch an release, because when I fell into the water I shocked the fish into inhaling the hook and it got so deep that it couldn’t be released.

When I got done telling my story everyone was laughing and some were having a hard time staying in their chairs because they were laughing so hard. The thrill I got from making everyone laugh and happy was great. That moment made me even more determined to achieve my dream of becoming a published author.