Tigger

Need Some Distraction – ND #99

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Rawhide Offering – Photo: L. Weikel

Need Some Distraction

I do believe the four legged creatures with whom I share my life are realizing that I (and perhaps you) need some distraction from the world at large. To that end, we can all give Brutus and Pacha – and the ever-suffering Tigger – our sincere appreciation.

Who knows what I was going to write about tonight. It’s a mystery. If I did have an idea, it flew out the window when, the moment I sat down and opened my laptop, Brutus jumped up and accosted Tigger, who was snoozing on the back of the couch.

“Tigger? Do you like it?” – Photo: L. Weikel

Don’t get me wrong. It was not an aggressive assault, but rather an enthusiastic one. One that could only be perpetrated by a puppy who’s loved and abided patiently by the elders in the household. Especially Tigger.

When I realized what was being played out before my wondering eyes, I tried my best to capture the saga with my iPhone. The problem with that is the sad fact that these puppies have grown up with an iPhone in my hand, and I swear they stop what they’re doing as soon as they see it. Or they look the other way. Or they move from the adorable position I’ve found them in and immediately pretend to be doing something else.

They’re devil dogs!

 

Brutus: Play With Me!

Over the past week or so, Brutus has become adamant about wanting – no, needing – to play in the evening when Karl and I are both in the process of folding our tents. There have been a few times recently when he has hopped on the couch and presented a squeaky toy literally in my face when I’ve dozed off watching a program. It’s a new phase that I hope he grows out of quickly.

I’m selfishly relieved, however, to see that he’s extending his gambit of frivolity to the feline kingdom as well. How he manages not to get scratched silly, I can only chalk up to remarkable fortitude and patience on Tigger’s part.

Tonight’s effort was a spontaneous sharing of the braided rawhide chew toy I gave to the pups this morning in order to distract them from demolishing a pair of Karl’s reading glasses. He hopped onto the couch and dumped it on Tigger’s back.

Tigger ignored him. What braided rawhide?

Pacha coyly flirted with him from the seat of the couch. “I like the look of that braid, Tigger,” she growled softly. Tigger didn’t bite. Instead, he gave Pacha a baleful glance and returned to the dreamtime.

“Give me strength.” – Photo: L. Weikel

 

Brutus brought yet another offering – this time one of their favorite squeaky toys.

Tigger feigned sleep.

“Need some distraction? How ’bout this one? I LOVE this one!” Photo: L. Weikel

Undaunted, Brutus brought yet another chew toy from across the room and dropped it on Tigger’s side. Nothing.

I wondered how long this was going to last and thought Brutus might start burying Tigger with his and his sister’s vast collection of squeakers and chew toys. But no. Moments later, he became bored and – as puppies and toddlers are wont to do – pretty much dropped in his tracks and fell asleep.

And that’s what I intend to do as well.

(T+99)

Witness – ND #43

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Tigger enjoying a few tender moments alone – Photo: L. Weikel

Most Treasured

It’s funny. I keep trying to jump-start this post by declaring what I refuse to write about for a third night in a row. For once, I really wanted to witness victory being snatched from the jaws of all-but-certain defeat. But it was not meant to be. Apparently we really are going to have to live out the nightmare of watching our country’s most treasured and revered foundational concepts crumble before our eyes, mostly because people simply cannot wrap their heads around the fact that this ‘really could happen’ in the United States.

So tonight I’m just going to keep it light.

Cuteness Prevails

Take Tigger, for example. According to the adoption papers we received when he was rescued years ago by my son and his then girlfriend (now wife), he’s starting to get up there in years. In fact, I think he may be 16 years old or so.

Tigger is by far the most patient of all our animals, but especially the most patient of our felines. He was the first to welcome the pups with open paws, and he endures relentless acts of butt-sniffing and puppy-tackles on a daily basis. It’s rare for him to lash out at either pup. Indeed, the only times I’ve ever seen him hiss or retaliate in any form were when they either took him utterly by surprise or, not surprisingly, when they simply refused to knock off their antics after too many tumbles or nips.

As many of my photos attest, the pups tend to be hogs when it comes to nestling in front of the fire. Once they’ve outgrown puppyhood, I’m pretty sure they’ll welcome cuddling with the felines – or perhaps I should say the cats may decide it’s safe to snuggle with them. But in the meantime, they swing from one end of the spectrum (as bundles of effervescent energy) to another (dead-weight, snoring, lights-out immovable lumps) in the blink of an eye. Consequently, the cats are finding languishing fireside to be an indulgence they rarely experience.

And so it was adorable earlier today when I discovered Tigger snatching a few zzzz’s hearthside, sharing the pet pillow with one of the pups’ favorite toys: the Fox. (The pups were asleep in their crate; I forget why.)

“MY Fox” – Photo: L. Weikel

Melts My Heart

It’s moments like these that melt my heart. Tigger, as old as he is, still plays like a frisky kitten – when the mood strikes him. Usually the mood hits when I’m making our bed. He mrrrows and arches his back, hops sideways and tackles my hand when I’m smoothing out the comforter. He’s hilarious. But I also watch him as he observes the mad scrambles of Pacha and Brutus when I throw their toy (the Fox, again, being a favorite) and they race to bring it back to me.

If it weren’t below his dignity, I actually think he’d be tempted to race after the toy himself and triumphantly bring it back to me. Or at the very least, jump on it and fling it a couple of times.

He just jumped up on the couch and mrrrowed to me. “Time for bed, Mommy.”

So now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to forget about the sad state of our country and go snuggle with my Tiggery.

(T+43)

Tigger’s Protest – Day 1077

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Chill Til – Photo: L. Weikel

 Tigger’s Protest

One unexpected consequence of the arrival of Pacha and Brutus has been Tigger’s protest and the manner in which it manifests. While Cletus has been brutally frank in his intolerance of these interlopers, there’s actually been a form of détente reached. It’s rather astonishing to see Cletus greet the pups with a playful, “Mrrrrow” when he sees them on the porch – and even deign to a dance of mutual nose-and-butt sniffing.

Of course, the sniffing is always fraught with the potential for escalation. The seemingly innocuous (and almost deceptively friendly) greeting can devolve into a fracas at the slightest whiff of the lack of proper deference being offered on the part of the puppies. Cletus demands deference.

The weird thing is, Cletus slashed at both of them the first couple of days, especially when they played or even just existed anywhere near his food. And when I say slashed, I mean it. He drew a few fine scratches on both of them. This makes his acceptance of them now all the more puzzling.

Dreaming Brutie – Photo: L. Weikel

Back to Tigger

Tigger, on the other hand, has been the epitome of patience. They tackle him and act all fierce, wriggling their butts in the air and barking little yips at their erstwhile big brother. They practice ferocity on Tigger. And as they grow bigger and bigger, and obviously feel more and more comfortable in their new home, their bullying only grows worse.

But beyond the bullying is the distraction they provide. Tigger has recently taken to slyly slipping out the kitchen door when we’re herding the puppies in or out. While he has always been permitted to come outside and sit around with us, especially taking up a watchful position beside me on the glider, he also knows he is not supposed to go off the porch.

While we’re obviously paying more attention to the little ones, Tigger is leaping off the back of the porch and stalking prey in the bamboo between us and the neighbor. Worse, however, is that just today I discovered two completely swollen ticks stuck to his neck. Ugh. I loathe them.

So for his trouble (or lack thereof), he’s getting eaten alive by blood sucking parasites and bullied by a pair of 12 week old puppies.

Hmm. That stinks.

Still Pretty Small – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-34)

Off His Game – Day 1043

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Spartacus: “I don’t feel well, Mommy” – Photo: L. Weikel

Off His Game

I’m distracted this evening. I’m worried about my Spart-man. As soon as I woke up this morning, I noticed he was ‘off his game.’ For one thing, he hadn’t come back upstairs to cuddle with me after his morning rendezvous with the elements. (Karl lets him out early, but Spartacus always – always – come back upstairs to cuddle with me. Every morning. Without fail.)

Anyway…when I came downstairs looking for my cuddle-bug, I found him outside, just standing underneath the bird feeders looking…lost. And forlorn. And frazzled, to be honest. The hair along his backbone was standing on edge – the way it looks when we walk past his buddies the wolfhounds and they talk smack to him.

It’s fine when his hair bristles at the abuse by his wolfhound buddies. It’s quite another when there’s no discernible…anything…going on.

His position the entire day – Photo: L.Weikel

Off His Game

I knew immediately that something was ‘off.’ He looked at me and the usual joy that beams out of his eyes wasn’t there. It was as if he was distracted, which perhaps he was. I think he was feeling ill and didin’t know what to do with those feelings.

I called him and chirruped in my most enthusiastic voice, but to no avail. He acted like he didn’t even want to climb the three steps to our porch. He did so, eventually, but not without exuding a sense of extreme malaise. There wasn’t even a hint of tail-wagging to be observed.

He drank a bit of water, but had no interest in food. I think I can count on one hand the times this boy has ever been disintererested in food. But…ok. Things happen. I was not going to get worried by a little stomach growler.

Things Only Got Worse

As the day wore on, Spartacus became more and more lethargic. Basically, he slept the entire day. But beyond that, he barely moved. That wouldn’t bother me all that much if the sleeping yielded even an ounce more pep. But it did not. We couldn’t even coax him to stand up.

Several more hours went by. The sun was setting and the moon was rising and it was time to take our walk. Spartacus, my baby. Can’t you shake this bug off yet, bunny?

I put his harness on in the hopes that it would inspire him to at least give a walk a try. Our walks are legend. And besides, I figured if he ate something that disagreed with him he might have to ‘get things moving’ in his innards and a walk might be just the ticket to his recovery.

Alas, no dice. He barely stood up long enough for me to secure his harness before immediately resuming his prone position on his massive pillow. Undaunted (and a bit shameless, I’ll admit), I offered him a treat. Nope.

Even the Wolfhounds Sensed Something

Even the wolfhounds recognized his absence. Entirely uncharacteristically, they turned their backs on me as I walked past them. Their buddy Start was nowhere to be seen. They couldn’t be bothered with his human.

“Bah. Where’s the little guy? We’re out of here.” Photo: L. Weikel

While I was walking, Karl brought him inside and tucked him into his softest dog bed. Once I came back, I had a feeling he might need to go to the bathroom. We took him out and he wandered a bit in the dark, but overall, it seemed to be a fruitless endeavor. Fruitless, except perhaps for a bit of some almost-dry heaves. (I’ve wracked my brain to think if he snuffled up anything on our walk last night, but I cannot remember anything unusual. And yes – he walked four miles with me yesterday…)

This is NOT the way Spartacus ever behaves.

Tigger: “What’s wrong with Spart, Mommy?” – Photo: L.Weikel

Present Status

Right now, Cletus is watching over his big brother. They’re both curled up, asleep on the mega pillow we have on our porch. Honestly, it’s the cutest indication of brotherly love. It’s fascinating – the cats all seem a bit perturbed. There’s definitely a disturbance in the force.

I’m not sure if Spart has a bit of a fever and feels better sleeping outside in the coolness of the night air, or what his motivation is for remaining outside. Is it just too much trouble to get up and come inside? It’s unsettling.

Believe me; once I write this and get it posted, I’m going outside and carrying him up to bed. There’s no way I’m going to let him sleep outside when he doesn’t feel well.

He’s my baby. And if he’s not acting more like himself by the time I wake up tomorrow morning, he’s going to visit his doctor. We can only hope it’s just something that needed time to work itself out.

Thanks for listening and maybe even sending some love to our pup.

Cletus having Spartacus’s back – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-68)

Snuggle Bunnies – Day 915

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Spartacus and Tigger – Photo: L. Weikel

Snuggle Bunnies

I know I’m not divulging anything new if I clue you in to the fact that these two creatures are the best snuggle bunnies ever. And I’m not talking about snuggling with each other, either (like they’re doing in this photo)!

No, Spartacus and Tigger are my stalwart companions, day and night.

My day invariably begins with Spartacus jumping into bed with me, burrowing under the covers, and literally pressing his back into the small of mine, perfectly aligning his body along my spinal column. He’s slept with us all night, mind you. But he usually gets up early with Karl, and upon his return, stakes out his favorite territory – my back.

Meanwhile, like clockwork, Tigger trots into our bedroom as soon as he hears me stir. He mrrrows at me (every single morning!), seemingly asking for permission to approach (or perhaps just saying good morning), and ensconces himself on the other side of my body. He, too, snuggles up and conforms his body to mine, except he’s up against my front, with my hand buried into the fur of his tummy. I can’t imagine any of the other cats I’ve loved in my life putting up with, much less seeking out, such assertive cuddling!

I have to admit, some days it’s almost impossible to drag myself out from under the covers.

Nighttime Ritual Too

But just as they protect me, front and back, each morning, they also tag team me at night as well. It’s adorable, really, to witness their routine.

Every night, Spartacus expectantly stares at Karl when he starts falling asleep on the couch. He then escorts Karl upstairs, luring him with the prospect of some of the same snuggles Karl sees me receiving in the morning. Tigger is almost always already upstairs on our bed by that time.

After about half an hour (believing Karl’s asleep?), Spart returns downstairs, jumps up beside me on the couch and promptly falls asleep. He keeps me company while I write. Tigger, meanwhile, comes downstairs for a quick drink when he hears me closing my laptop, but is then eager to return to the dreamtime.

I’m guessing you’re all acutely aware of how tired I am tonight. My snuggle bunnies are calling.

Just another benefit of that unconditional love I wrote about yesterday, I guess.

(T-196)

Stuff Got Done – Day 887

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Precious – Photo: L. Weikel

Stuff Got Done

Today was a day some stuff got done – inside. Wow, was it chilly and raw out. At one point, not only was it raining, I swear there was also some sleet in the mix as well.

I’m actually hoping to get a lot more stuff done this entire weekend. I figure I might as well make this ‘declaration’ here. Not that I have to ever admit whether or not I successfully make the type of headway I yearn to, but at least I’ll feel some responsibility to fulfilling my stated intention.

My zeal to clean out was at least somewhat assuaged by the arrival of the Vietnam Vets of America, who picked up the contents of our front porch, which had grown to a somewhat daunting size.  I may have jumped the gun a little bit, though, and I feel bad about it.

VVA Protocol

When one schedules a pickup with this charity, you’re told to expect a pickup between 8:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m. on the appointed day. Well, the last time I scheduled with them was March 23rd  – and they never showed up.

Since then, I’ve noticed the side-eye we’ve been getting from the neighbors. I think the length of time those items have remained on our porch has encouraged a collective wondering if we’re moving out. So I was perhaps – only perhaps, mind you – a little trigger happy when we reached the magic hour of 5:00 p.m. this evening and there was still no sign of the VVA truck. Given the first missed appointment, I had no problem jumping on the assumption train that this appointment had been blown as well.

So, of course, I called. And after remaining on hold for a good long time, I finally spoke with a human. She was great to deal with and simply made sure she ‘registered a Complaint’ for both missed appointments. She also put in an expedited request for a third pickup next Tuesday.

Because we all know how this type of stuff unfolds, you can guess what happened after that. Not ten minutes later, didn’t the VVA truck pull up and the poor guy had to load it all onto his truck in the pouring rain? Of course it did.

Setting Things Straight

The feeling of liberation when I look outside and see a cleared front porch!

I’m going to call them back tomorrow (or Monday) and set the record straight. The last thing I want to do is punish the guy who has our route. He was doing it all himself, and it looked like his truck was pretty darn full when he opened up the back. There was no partner sharing the load of lugging all the stuff. So I want to make sure he doesn’t get dinged in his paycheck for two missed appointments. That could be grounds for losing his job, and if so, I don’t want to be responsible for that.

In the Meantime

In the meantime, we never did manage to get a walk in today. Neither of us relished the prospect of dodging raindrops and getting soaked. Instead, we took full advantage of sitting in front of the fire in our living room and allowing the warmth to soak into our bones.

Tigger was first in line to bask in the warmth, and Precious simply couldn’t keep her eyes open.

Sort of how I feel right now.

Tigger – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-224)

Spooning – Day 847

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Cletus & Tigger Spooning – Photo: L. Weikel

Spooning

Spooning, cuddling, call it what you will. I venture a guess there are only a few people out there who don’t find immense comfort in the ritual of holding or being held. Or, as in our case, switching off in the middle of the night by mumbling a barely recognizable, “Hold or be held?” and then adjusting ourselves according to the wishes of the one being asked.

At least we take turns giving each other priority preference.

But the pleasures of spooning do not end with homo sapiens in our house. No sir. As can be seen from my photo, above, even two of our three cats were recently caught spooning with each other.

Cletus and Tigger

A few weeks ago I managed to take this photo of Cletus and Spartacus sleeping sort of adjacent to each other (more sharing a pillow than cuddling – with Tigger  hanging out on the periphery). Precious, of course, was nowhere to be seen. She tends to sleep by her self, often choosing to perch on the back of a couch and snoring so loudly you’d swear it was another human.

Cletus, Spartacus, Tigger – Photo: L. Weikel

While the animals definitely have affection for each other that genuinely seems to be more than mere tolerance, it is nevertheless rare to have two male cats (albeit neutered) who are completely unrelated to each other actually cuddle up.

But then you give the whole scenario some perspective and you realize just how potentially stereotype-shattering this whole ‘spooning’ exercise really is in our household.

Perspective

Ah yes, there it is again: perspective. It really is fascinating just how much of a role our perspective plays on everything we perceive. Our perspective – or the overall context in which we perceive creatures or anything, shapes and colors our entire experience.

It was with this truth in mind that I pulled back from my closeup of Cletus and Tigger spooning in order to give a wider view of the potential sleeping arrangements available to our pets.

Many rooms at the Inn – Photo: L. Weikel

Clearly, there was a deliberate choice to share a deluxe pillow together, as there were a plethora of beds available for them to sleep independently.

I’m left to wonder, in all honestly, just how much comfort and reassurance our cats require in these strange times. How similar are they to us when it comes right down to it?

No matter how you look at it, it’s pretty adorable.

(T-264)

Tryptophan Haze – Day 748

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Tigger – Faithful Guardian of the Bird – Photo: L. Weikel

Karl and I held off on roasting our turkey until late this afternoon. As a result, my attempt to write something coherent tonight is noticeably hindered by the inevitable onset of a tryptophan haze.

I’ll tell you two other members of this household who are staving it off with me: Spartacus and Tigger. (That’s because Karl’s already succumbed to the turkey drug’s siren song and hit the sheets, Precious hasn’t indulged, and Cletus is out cavorting with opossums and skunks at the moment.) So here we are.

Tigger and Spartacus were ever such great helpers as I stripped the turkey’s carcass and put away the leftovers. Yes indeed, the best of helpers.

As can be seen in the photo above, from the moment the bird was extricated from the oven, Tigger was a faithful guardian of the roasted beast, maintaining a watchful eye against any unanticipated marauders that might storm the gate. I could do nothing less than reward him for his vigilance.

The same went for Spartacus. He faithfully fulfilled his responsibilities as four legged Roomba equivalent, impeccably maintaining a spotless kitchen floor. Not a single fleck of errant foodstuff lasted longer than the blink of an eye under his eagle-eyed watch.

I Stand Corrected

Nope. I just checked. The other two are down for the count as well.

Spartacus never even made it upstairs. He snatched a few blankets and collapsed on the sofa as I wrote the above paragraphs.

Tigger? Well, I thought at least he would stick with me and keep me company as I fulfilled my nightly devotional responsibilities. But no. I just checked. He apparently stole away to join Karl in bed, opening one eye as I reached the top of the steps in tacit acknowledgment that he was aware of my existence but had no choice but to make me a warm spot instead. He made a sad attempt at claiming that warm spot-making, too, is one of his sacred responsibilities, but I call bs.

So much for tonight’s post.

Hopefully tomorrow’s turkey sandwiches won’t have quite the same effect. But…yum. I’m looking forward to finding out. I think that’s probably *my* sacred task. It’s a tough job, but…

Spartacus – Trypt out – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-363)

Little Things – Day 742

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Precious Awakened – Photo: L. Weikel

Little Things

Each and every day, particularly right now, focusing upon the little things in life, the things that make us smile, is an act of self-love. Off the top of my head, listening to my cat Precious snore like a longshoreman while curled up on the back of the couch right behind me fits that bill.

And now that I start to contemplate the many ‘little’ things I’m grateful for, I see how many of them revolve around non-human creatures, especially Spartacus (our Boston Terrier), Precious, Tigger, and Cletus. I can say without qualification that they bring a dimension of joy and comfort into my life that I’d be lost without.

Tigger Snoozing – Photo: L. Weikel

You know me…recounting the joys my four-legged companions bring to my life is something I engage in routinely. And it’s not at all likely that I’ll stop dipping into the pool of love they provide anytime soon.

That’s at least partly because simply living life in 2020 and paying attention to our collective reality means we are bombarded with news that hurts our souls. Literally. Even if we only cursorily glance at the headlines just to see where we stand as a community or a country, it’s enough to drain our energy and leave us feeling defeated, deflated, or perhaps occasionally worse: enraged.

Our nervous systems are drenched in the fight or flight hormones of cortisol and adrenaline. And unlike pretty much all other times in our nation’s history, because of the ubiquitous nature of technology in our hands, we are kept mercilessly up-to-date on the latest atrocities being waged against the things many of us care about most.

Spartacus & Tigger getting some flame time – Photo: L. Weikel

Purring and Comfort and Walks

Beyond the scientific proof that the purring of cats is healing to the physical body, I for one can attest to how my cats have mended tears in my emotions since I got my first kitten at age six: Katen. Katen was a black and white domestic shorthair cat with a white hourglass on his nose. He got me through my childhood, pure and simple. He was my closest confidant (although I was lucky enough to have a couple two legged ones too – you know who you are).

It’s amusing to me to realize that he was black and white – just like my beloved Sheila and Spartacus; just like Cletus. Indeed, just like the marvelous Stinky who’s been around recently.

I love feeling the heft of a cat on top of the covers, his purr resonating through the layers of sheets and blankets. (I will admit to allowing Spartacus to nestle along my back underneath the covers. Talk about a comfort.)

And the walks. The walks are good for all of us. All of these little things, these opportunities for giving and receiving love, make my life incredibly rich. I hope you have such little things too.

Cletus with a rare smile – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-369)

Take Cover – Day 718

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Tigger Taking Cover – Photo: L. Weikel

Take Cover

I think this photo of Tigger speaks volumes. If you followed the news at all today, in any form – radio, television, FB, Twitter – and if you’re anything like me, you’re probably harboring this declaration as your silently mumbled Election Day (and beyond) strategy: “Take cover!”

And yet, as we all know, that is an essentially unsustainable tack to take. We can and possibly would be advised to run for cover initially, because, well, there’s a decent chance that people are going to get worked up over whatever happens next Tuesday, and they’re almost sure to act out in some way. But taking cover can only suffice so long.

Writing It Out

It’s probably time for us to start mapping out strategies within our own minds as to how we might want to proceed given various potential outcomes. This is where writing in a journal can really be a huge boon to our mental health.

Let’s face it: we’re being faced with what, for many of us, feels like an existential threat. Even as I type those words, I’m reminded how – as real as those words feel to me – how privileged I am to be writing them as a white middle aged woman. (Ew. But facts are facts.) If I’m feeling that the events we’re going to be encountering over the next several days and weeks, if not months and years, are posing an existential threat to me, what in the world must Black and brown people, indigenous people, LGBTQ people, immigrants, and all sorts of other people feel?

When I think about the risks we’re all facing right now, with the hammer of an ultra conservative Supreme Court majority held over our heads, my stomach lurches. I’m afraid for my friends who are married to their same-gendered loves. I’m terrified for all Black people – but especially young Black men (and those who love them) – and the risks they take just by walking down a street or driving in a car. I grieve over the horrific conditions immigrant children (and their parents) find themselves in – here, of all places – when all they sought was escape from untenable circumstances.

What world do we live in? What country are we creating? What really matters?

What Really Matters?

If we give ourselves a little breathing room to actually pin down the thoughts that are careening around in our minds like an old-fashioned pinball machine playing quadruple bonus balls, it helps.

Yes, perhaps we initially, at least furtively, think, “I’ll leave the country.” Well? Write it out. Where would you go (especially now)? How would you support yourself? What would you do with your current abode and all the stuff that’s inside it?

Thinking through your options, and writing them down, clarifies the mind. It also serves to stop the endless stream of thoughts that actually don’t serve you. Details matter. They bring the situation you’re contemplating down from the elusive, broad-brush stroke airy land of threats and idealistic thoughts, to earthy practicality.

If you really think you may want to leave, ask yourself, “What’s my plan?” And listen to the answer that pours out of your fingertips.

If writing out the details makes you realize leaving is too much of a hassle or – equally as possible – you feel a stirring of something else underneath that knee jerk “I’m leaving” reaction, you need to follow that thread.

Does it stick in your craw to imagine abdicating everything you’ve been taught to believe the United States stands for? If so, describe your feelings. What really, truly matters to you? What are you willing to do for those ideals? If nothing else, write it out to yourself.

Our Greatest Hours

Believe it or not, I truly believe our greatest hours may be approaching. I’ve not even the slightest clue what’s going to unfold over the next five days, much less the next five weeks, five months, or five years. But I do have a  powerful sense that whatever happens may catalyze all of us into making choices we never dreamed we’d be asked – or forced – to make. We may be called to dig deeply into acting upon what our core values demand of us.

But first, we need to know what those core values are. Not high-and-mighty, lofty ideals. I’m talking nitty gritty, fundamental-to-my-identity, what matters to me most values. Only then can we each decide for ourselves the answer to: what am I willing to do to demand, protect, defend, and advocate for these values?

If we give ourselves the gift of reflecting on these questions over the next several days instead of doom watching or doom scrolling (such eerily and sadly apt phrases), we just might realize that we’re approaching the most important choice points of our lives. Our reasons for being born at this time, in this country, and being faced with these specific challenges may all be coalescing now.

We may be approaching our greatest hours. Let’s prepare.

Photo: L. Weikel

(T-393)