Fiona (Outlander, from Fion/Finn, means ash-blonde, white) Elinor aka Ellie-cat (Austen, as in Dashwood), favorite heroine
Born early 8/2024. Thou mett’st with things dying [beloved Ian & Clary], I with things newborn [the shepherds in A Winter’s Tale]
Callooh callay she chortled in her joy — Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwockey
Friends,
Laura “negotiated” (if you could call the talk that, no one talked money or scarcity) online after she saw video of five kitten siblings, all from one litter, of which two were said to be closely bonded, bffs, stay together, sleep on one another, all but one white in appearance, with mostly grey spots (the exception a full grey, a male). New born. Laura filled out application for 3 mommies. Only Laura can drive; I’m not as yet allowed nor can I, so lest neither Izzy or I not driving might constitute an obstacle (see ableism and ageism story). There was a waiting period, then we were told no one else “put in” for them. Now all three had a face-time with Barbara, foster mother, through cell-phone. Foster mother saw me, and enough of house to remark “you have many books.” “11,000,” said I.
Fiona with attendant
Elinor with attendant
The way was cleared to wait another week; they were spayed yesterday, and Laura drove them “home” today, collared, tagged, microchipped.
I had ordered regular deliveries of chewy dry and wet food, and litter for kittens. I fretted over whether to bring down second litter box Laura had given us and was in attic. I cannot climb up pull down ladder (from ceiling) just now. But no room downstairs since alongside free wall of larger bathroom is a handy bench for keeping things, not to omit sitting on. They are so tiny (2 lbs some ounces each), and Ian and Clarycat shared one all their lives. So left it one litter box for both for now. I placed spinning and larger toys about house, freed the cat trees by bringing down and “strategically” placing from them catbeds (one in all rooms but bath, 2 vestibules meandering into halls, and cupboard now a closet for bookcases, kitchen) and toys left on them. I found old soft dolls and string toys; Laura bought some more from the place, brought cat toys too from her house..
Right now (late Friday night), frightened, they are in Izzy’s room with her huddling in cat stack with holes for climbing in and out, near her bed for scooting under. We have them there, told to put them in one room for a while, with door lightly closed, so space not so immense with many hiding spots, and we and they can begin to know one another. And after, calmer, find their litter box. When they first came in, we emptied carrier on Izzy’s bed, and they both scurried about, trying corners, mewing in their high pitched way, especially Elinor (in character already when she hid after talking?).
I placed dry and wet food nearby and water and when Izzy and I retreated to supper in kitchen, they came out and ate heartily. Sky going dark, room went dark; I came back, talked at them, put lights on and after a while they slunk out from under Izzy’s bed back to holes in cat stack, peering out. So here we are, she on twitch in her room with them, I in my study blogging.
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Before the week is over, I want publicly to remember my husband, Jim’s birthday: he was born Oct 3, 1948; he would have been 76. In 3 days is our anniversary; we met (1968) and were married (1969 ) on Oct 6th (in Leeds, the West Riding, Yorkshire). We would have been married 55 years — you might say I have been. He died Oct 9, 2013 at age age of 65 (here in Alexandria, Va). I was 67. We lived 3 of our years together in Leeds; 11 in New York City; and now more than 40 in Alexandria (with, once we had the money, many trips back and forth and around NYC, to New England and Canada too, and so many tothe UK).
A longtime friend, MaryLee, who I’ve talked of here when her beloved husband died in 1/2022 (after 52 years of marriage). She remembered! and wrote an email asking if I had any time free that day: I could easily make time. She drove over with pumpkin and chocolate chip pound cake. I supplied Riesling wine (inexpensive Barefoot, California wine). So we sat and chatted together. She is going on another trip to Europe this year, tomorrow, to Germany (or maybe Prague), and will bring photos and tell me all about it when she returns. I’ve known her since 1984, when we met and she was pregnant with her third daughter, and I with Isobel. She remembered and came over to celebrate sort of the long life I’m still having with him through memory.
I experienced some rare moments of happiness in her company.
Climate changing. Now the new fall in N. Virginia. How the bushes and trees in my gardening are strangely flowering and blooming. My redberry bush has more red berries than leaves in places. So too my miniature white magnolia is flowering so much that the flowers crowd out the dried up brown and withering leaves falling from tree at the same time. The deep pink azalea bushes gone contradicory too. Thenthe white magnolia flowers suddenly vanished this morning. Very very chilly last night. Turned off air conditioning but kept on fans against mugginess. I need a fall jacket outside and have the heat on for a 2nd night and day inside.
I always think of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight when I think of Christmas flora. I love that poem. Also The Pearl (by the same poet). Which I willl have a Saturday session at OLLI at York in a couple of Saturdays, staring 5 am my time.
My reading companion and mate on Trollope & His Contemporaries @ groups. io sent us all the following lightly moving poem (rhythms very good)
The Reading Mother by
Strickland GillianI had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
“Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath.I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings–
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be–
I had a Mother who read to me.
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I had a father who read to me. Passages from Robert Louis Stevenson (“the Sire de Maltroit’s Door,” “A lodging for the night,”, Dickens (Pickwick Papers), Scott (Ivanhoe), Burnett’s The Secret Garden all come to mind — with memories of him reading them to me.
Jim read aloud a number of Kipling’s “Just so” stories to Laura and Izzy — and me too. It was even in front of a fire in the evening and he read it so well.
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Lastly, on women’s writing (or literature), novels, non-fiction, poetry, plays and the upsurge of deadly misogyny world wide:
For me at this point in my life while I can discover new genres or (to me) male authors I like for real, my driving desire and interest is to read books & essays by women.
I remain amazed (not too strong a word) how I discover so many women seem indifferent to this important gender divide. I see those who care in the few places dedicated to some form of women’s art, and in classes where text is by a woman (only then there are often no women but outside these, no. They (the women) look surprised when I say most of the time I prefer women’s writing. A coulple might quietly smile. Most of these women seem not to realize the central messages or interpretations found in male books & and even more so films, are male-centered, using male aesthetics. It’s denied there is a l’ecriture-femme, even by women themselves, maybe not on the level of the sentence or paragraph or chapter but on the level of a whole work of art it is produce by about 59% of writers.
Many women do try hard to write versions of male books and especially male movies (There’s money in that.) Selling themselves for centuries but now one does not have to.
In the US men are trying to make pregnancy compulsory. Having made a miscarriage or anything going wrong in pregnancy, now life threatening, the cruelty and drive to dominate women may be backfiring, but still there are these female fools for Trump (not so much for Vance), voting for death for women from pregnancy. And in case you’re wondering why a choice between an intelligent successful humane lawyer is not winning overwhelmingly or even at all against a vicious convicted felon, ignornt, foul-mouthed, incessantly lying, sexual predator who tried to ovrthrow the US gov’t by violent mob action, it’s because huge numbers of men and some women too will vote a woman into serious power, Obama so worried, he’s sprung into action by campaigning for her, playing the child saying aloud “the emperor has no clothes.” The only one until now
Louis Wain
Ellen one of 3 cat ladies who does not want either of her daughters to bleed to death in a parking lot