Buster

It was not God's plan to give me children, at least not the conventional sort. He blessed me with "fur children" and these wonderful creatures have filled the "mom hole" in my heart.

I know I am dotty about them, I also know they are animals, not people but still I love them passionately. People who do not know my struggle with childlessness often judge me because I love my cats so much. It's a foolish thing to judge the heart of people when you don't know their story or their struggles.

Tonight was a difficult night. My beautiful gentle giant Buster died suddenly. Curled up and snoozing in his favorite chair, there was no hint of the tragedy to come. Nevertheless, come it did. Suddenly he let out a yell, his head fell back and he struggled to breathe. I ran to the chair, took him in my arms and laid him down on the carpet. It was only moments and he was gone. My beautiful green-eyed Buster is gone and he's left a hole in my heart.

Those of you who are more calloused will think, "It's only a pet, just get a new one." Buster was more than a pet. He was a cuddle buddy when I had the flu and stayed in bed. He was a clown who jumped on the sofa and bumped your hand with his big head until you gave up and gave him the petting he demanded. He was a friend to any of the other cats who wanted to curl up next to him for a snooze. He was a joy.

I dread the morning because he won't be at the foot of the bed. I won't have to step over him on the stairs where he always stretched out to catch the morning sun, and he won't be waiting expectantly for his wet food in the evening.

How deeply God's creatures can imbed themselves in our hearts. How painful when they are gone. How blessed we were to have him in our lives for twelve years. How much I will miss him.

I don't know God's plans for animals. I have no idea if there are animals in heaven, but I certainly hope so. And since I don't know for sure, I am going to imagine Buster, black fur gleaming and green eyes blinking with pleasure as he sits in my mother's lap for a nice cuddle in their heavenly home.

"Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And [yet] not one of them is forgotten or uncared for in the presence of God." Luke 12:6 (AMP)

Anticipation

It is official. This is the seventh consecutive month of snow. Normally by April 7th crocus, tulips or buttercups would be dotting the landscape, whispering a promise of approaching summer days and warm afternoons floating down Sand Creek in a kayak.

Snow continues to fall. Canadian geese caught by surprise in this bad weather, honk their disappointment while disoriented robins attempt to chisel frozen worms out of the edges of slowly melting snow banks. Painted toenails and flip- flops are a distant dream.

It occurred to me this afternoon as we met with the landscaper, dreaming of all the wonderful yard projects to come, that I have lived the last few months as though I were holding my breath. I haven't been living in the here-and- now, but rather in the soon-to-be. I look disdainfully at the dirty snow piles and make plans for when the days and the weather will meet my expectations. I am sleep walking while awake. I am not fully engaged in life because I am waiting, waiting for the snow to melt, waiting until I can plant new flowers, waiting until I can sit on the back deck and hear the waterfall, waiting to live fully in the glory of spring.

I wonder what I have missed while I have been waiting. If I am not capable of savoring the days I am living now, will I truly appreciate the spring and summer to come, or will I find myself dreaming away the days of hot summer looking forward to the showy splash of color in autumn? Will I look past the beauty of the fall in order to anticipate the crisp touch of cold on my cheeks during a December walk? Will I always long for the season that is to come and never fully enjoy the one I am experiencing?

I am feeling reflective, as I reconnected with an old High School classmate today This contact made realize how quickly seasons have slipped past my notice.

I am resolving to embrace a new motto, the one I saw on a bumper sticker a few months ago, "Today is a gift, that's why they call it the present". I will take the gift of today and enjoy it because I know that eventually, dirty snow piles do melt.

The malapropisms of my German mother were a constant source of delight and amusement in my family. There was rarely a time when she was writing out a check that she didn't ask,"How do you spell five; with an F or a V?"

She often referred to notable people as being very extinguished and she never got mad, she got fur-ious. If she was extremely upset, she might even get her gander up.

Mom was always a bit put off when someone would ask, "Where are you from, I can't place your accent?"

"Akzent?", she would bark, giving them her best cold stare, "I don't shpeak vith an Akzent!

"One Sunday breakfast in particular comes to mind. As we sat at the large, round table and shared lively conversation with our friends, the waitress took our orders. When the food arrived, my mother was irate. Sitting in front of her was a plate of eggs, a bowl of chili and one piece of toast. Everyone else at the table with a toast order had two pieces. Why did she receive only one? To make matters worse, she had not requested any chili. Who in their right mind would eat greasy chili early in the morning?

Before Mom whipped herself into a lather, my sister, always the calm, thoughtful one in the family, suggested we review the order process and see if we could ascertain where the waitress went so woefully wrong."

Okay Mom," my sister said in her soothing fashion, "Just tell us exactly what you said to the waitress."

Irritated but willing to play along in the hopes of solving this culinary mystery and calling the errant waitress to task, my mother replied in her heavy German accent. "All I said vas "I'll half an order of toast with chelli." It was several minutes before we could wipe the tears of laughter from our eyes and calm down enough to explain the solution of the wacky breakfast mystery to my mother.

Ah, Mom, the English language has never been the same for me since you've been gone.