The Greatest Gift

None of us are rich, monetarily speaking. None of us have ever, for example, dived beneath the Christmas tree and found the keys to a fancy new car. Or even a new car. Or just a car.

No expensive jewelry, costly perfume, cutting edge electronics, designer clothes...none of those exotic gifts that grace so many homes this time of year. We can't afford them, it's true, but even if we could, I don't think we would. For us, the greatest gift doesn't automatically mean the most expensive. In fact, the less wealthy we all are, the more creative our gifts become. Most cost very little, and some nothing at all!

In our crowd, you can never go wrong with edibles, many of them tenderly home-made. I personally like them best for the children, since even if - okay, when - they throw the wrappers all over the floor, they get picked up and cause no further mess till the next year. Some gifts are both edible and thoughtful. Last year, I found a place to order Jack his favorite kind of veggie ribs, and he was thrilled. This year, Mom found him a couple kinds of BBQ sauce based on popular soda flavors. We have no idea yet what these bizarre creations taste like, but we all had a good laugh imagining the possibilities. 

Books, usually used and nearly always vintage or hard-to-find, are also popular. Mom just got Damon two books by Peter Hathaway Capstick, an extraordinary hunter and author. The fact that I have been trying to get my hands on those books myself is pure coincidence. Anyway, there is nothing wrong with a multitasking present. And Tina got the hilarious photo essay, "101 Uses for My Ex-Wife's Wedding Dress". 

Caleb got Damon and Devon each a pair of hockey skates (used, of course), and John got his mom a snuggie. It will come in very handy if she can just get the time to sit down.

Then there are the 'special' presents. Most often snapped up in thrift stores or on clearance racks, these chance finds are both inexpensive and perfectly suited to the recipient. Tina got me a lovely soft blue sweater, and a vibrant purple hat/scarf/gloves set. I had been meaning to get myself an adorable winter hat, better suited to a delicate bus driver than the full-face ski mask (aka bank robber hat) I wear to shovel snow.

Mom found me a couple of VHS movies that I remember fondly from my childhood. That does not make them vintage, no matter what the item description might say.

"Bag 'em, Danno!"

Mom received a cute little gadget whose purpose at first escaped her. Sewed from lacy, acid-washed blue jeans, it's a hanging tube that holds plastic bags. You know, those bags from the grocery store that you always see in the Man Harming Wildlife documentaries, because so many get thrown away rather than re-used. Well, around here, those plastic bags play a vital role in the containment of certain, ahem, hazardous waste by-products from an anonymous incontinent family member. (We'll call him Strandpa.) Now Mom can dispose in style! I'm sure the garbage men will be grateful.

There was a new category of gifts under the tree this year, with only the cost of wrapping paper. Let's just say it takes re-gifting to a whole new level. Basically, you liberate - a nice way of saying "steal" - the person's stuff, and then give it back to them. 

Tina used to play a version of this game with our brothers when she was little. First, she would steal a whole bunch of their stuff. Then she would open a store, and charge them actual cash money to redeem their own belongings. Upon complaining to Mom, they were told to play nicely with their sister. It was a nice racket. They are still bitter.

The gift version is a little kinder and gentler, since there is not actually a price attached. A few weeks before Christmas, Tina found one of Devon's favorite toys, a plastic parachute man with a working parachute. He had lost it several months before, and it had slipped my mind to give it back once it was found. An honest mistake. Really.

When Devon opened it, he was pretty blase. "Auntie, I already have one of these." We all began snickering as he turned it over and over to inspect it more closely. "And mine is blue, just like this one."

The roar of laughter nearly drowned out Tina as she told him, "Yours looks just like that one, because that one is yours."

And then Tina found out that she was not the only one who had caught re-gifting fever.

Oh, goody. Here's my platter.

This looks familiar, too.

She didn't mind a bit. When it comes to presents, she's always been a quantity over quality kinda gal. If you gave her a pack of licorice, she'd be happy. If you gave her the same pack, with each piece individually wrapped, she'd be thrilled!

Caleb got his own little surprise, too - the Bible he had forgotten at church only that morning.

Wow. Thanks, Uncle Jack.

Jack had already gotten an uncharacteristically pricey gift for me - a dishwasher. After 3 1/2 years of washing entirely by hand, I had gotten used to doing dishes the same way as when I was a kid. (Minus spending hours flicking giant bubbles in my dishwater.) However I can promise you that it will not even take me .07 seconds to adjust to having a dishwasher again. The kindness, thoughtfulness, and love that prompted it will stay with me all year. There are a few, a very few presents you just can't find at the thrift store.

Every now and again, though, the opportunity comes along to give The Gift - that one perfect present that a beloved family member has been longing for, and just hadn't been able to get. This year was Tina's turn. She had always wanted a rock garden.

Jack had been telling her for a while now that he was getting her rocks for Christmas, and that is what he did. With some help from children and small cousins, we collected rounded stones from a field, left there several thousand years ago by a passing glacier. Wrapping them was a family collaboration.

Jack and Damon helped...

...and so did Potto.

It's hard to believe how well his fur has grown back!

The finished rock garden.

Tina was thrilled. You can see the joy all over her face. But hey, some of them were individually wrapped.

No, wait..........there might be something else.......................................

I SMELL A CAMERA!!!!!!!!!

Each year, I think we do a little better at capturing the true spirit of The Greatest Gift. This season isn't about selfish gratification, price tags, or credit card bills. It's about family togetherness and love. The bonds we form with family and friends give honor to the greatest gift of all, when God sent His Son to earth, to become ours now and forever.

Emmanuel, God with us.

Praying for God's peace to guide us as we enter the new year,
Noni Beth

Christmas Eve Morning

It's been a while since I mentioned Grandpa. He's still ticking, though some days the boundary between death and life stretches pretty thin. This is another in a long string of "Last Christmases" he has stuck around for, each one better than the last, though each one finding him weaker and less alert.

Living in Death's shadow for so long has left us with a few oddities, not that we were so normal to start with. What follows, though it happened to land on Christmas Eve this time, is fairly typical of several days out of every week.

See, Grandpa has now been diagnosed with two, count 'em - TWO fatal conditions. One is his heart, where one or more unnoticed heart attacks left him with only a teeny tiny bit of living heart tissue. We found out about that more than a year-and-a-half ago, The doctor said there were no statistics for men Grandpa's age with a heart so bad, as they were all already dead. He said that, if Grandpa were 50, he would give him a year to live.

Then, a bit over 6 months ago, Grandpa was additionally diagnosed with some kind of blood cancer. I forget the name, but basically, the problem is in his bone marrow. His marrow produces blood cells, but the cancer prevents an increasing number of them from maturing. Those "toddler cells" end up clogging up more and more of the production line, resulting in anemia that just keeps getting worse. The doctor said the life expectancy is usually six months.

So now, Grandpa has outlived both his original year, and his six months. He has grown worse and worse, now bedbound and unable to walk. He regularly almost dies, but somehow finds the strength to soldier on a little longer. 

Hospice was going to babysit Grandpa for a few hours, long enough for us to take part in the third Christmas program this month. We had already practiced all the songs for the community Christmas program, so everything was perfectly ready.

Until nearly all of us got sick.

By the grace of God, our dreadful colds hadn't impaired our singing voices, so after a few days of concern, our part in the program remained intact.

Until Grandpa tried to die. Again. 

On the way out to the car, he lost consciousness before ahem, spoiling his lovely new Christmas outfit with a round of nausea. As usual, his will to live prevailed, but his trip to town had to be cancelled. So did our tenor part (Mom), and the pianist for two of our three songs (also Mom). 

All's well that ends well, even if a few modifications had to be made. Our trio became a duet, I played for the kids' song, and our quartet became a lovely reading about the birth of Christ. The other families at church participated beautifully, and then, and then....

The Luau. 

I think it's fairly safe to say that luaus are few and far between out here on the plains, much less vegetarian luaus. It was a worthy feast, indeed, and everyone enjoyed it, except Mom. 

Tina took some home for Mom, so she would have enjoyed it, except for one thing. She had just reached the stage of sickness where she lost her sense of taste. "Mmmm, mmmm," she exclaimed bitterly. "Christmas texture."

My heart was sad for her. Very, very sad. Not too sad to keep me from chewing my way through every blissful second. 

After all, SOMEONE needed to enjoy it.

Too sick to have adventures,

Noni Beth

A Christmas Soliloquy

Hey, don't knock my poinsetta! You wouldn't look so great with frostbite, either...

As with most of our holidays, Christmas has its roots in paganism. Just as bunnies and eggs are firmly attached to Easter, so are Christmas trees and Santas linked in our minds to the festive winter holiday season.

Some folks choose not to celebrate or even acknowledge Christmas, because of those pagan origins. I have no objection whatsoever to anyone who lives up to the leadings of their conscience.

My own personal belief is this:

It's always the right time to take advantage of any opportunity to turn people's minds to heavenly things. It's always the right time to teach our children how to give...to be unselfish. It's always the right time to bind the hearts of our family together with thoughtful gifts. 

Crass commercialism would like to see Christmas as one giant extravaganza, with each person trying to outdo the next in lavish gifts and skyrocketing credit card bills. The hustling and jostling in the world's malls is far removed from the simplicity and beauty of the story of Jesus' birth.

And Mary brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

As the Christmas season washes over you, take time to remember the One who humbled Himself, was born as an impoverished infant in a borrowed shelter, and who lived and died to save us from our sins.

The story of Christ's birth can only be fully understood when viewed through the story of his death. His death only makes sense when we see it through His resurrection. His resurrection points us to the awe-filled day when He comes again, this time as Eternal King.

It's always the right time to talk about Jesus.

Lunar Eclipse

Just before the end, the moon sank below a pesky cloud. The next total lunar eclipse is scheduled for Tax Day - April 15, 2014.

Sunrise today is at 7:38 am, and sunset at 3:59 pm, thus making this the shortest day of our year. Incredible as it seems while this early in winter, our days will actually get longer from here on out.

Star of Wonder

Not quite two weeks ago, Damon 'disappeared' for a couple of hours. Of course, being the experienced mother that I am, I knew where he was. And having been something of a daredevil myself, I simply listened for screams instead of calling him down.

Next thing you know, our roof was decorated with lights. That was typical enough, but he had also tried to decorate our antenna in the shape of a tree. It looked amazingly arboreal, right until an anonymous family member we shall call Rina said, "Your house looks like a church."

And it did.

No matter how many times we looked at it, the tree had permanently become a steeple. At least until Jack decided to do something about it. Last night he came home with a small box and handed it to Damon. The boy about did cartwheels - it was an adorable little star for the top of his stee- um, tree. 

Later I went out to look at it. Apparently some assembly had been required, since the adorable little star dwarfed the 'tree', and nearly our house. The beacon is visible from outer space. 

I tried to take a picture of it for you. Standing in the cold, shivering, is not the recommended way to hand-hold time exposures of 1-3 seconds each. In general, hand-held is not the recommended way to do time exposures at all, but (ahem, Sweetheart) NO ONE HAS GOTTEN ME A PINK TRIPOD YET. 

What else can you do with an impossible situation? You just have Fun with Time Exposures AND Zoom Lenses Simultaneously. Seriously, I think the shivering even helped.

Until the next adventure,
Noni Beth

Loaves and Fishes

I wasn't even supposed to preach today. It was Jack's week. I didn't mind, though, and since I'm doing a long series on the Old Testament, I didn't even have to come up with a subject - just go on to the next story. For a brief time I did consider preaching on a passage in Matthew that really impressed me during my worship, but finally decided to continue with the series.

This week's sermon was Child of Promise, about the birth of Isaac, the miracle boy. Of course it leads very naturally into a comparison with the birth of Jesus, also the Miracle Boy. It was a beautiful power point presentation, complete with Bible verses, applicable quotations, and tons of pictures to keep the kids interested. Hey, adults like pictures, too, but kids like them most. 

Since I wanted to be on time, I got ready a half hour early and dashed over to help with Grandpa so Tina could get done early enough. (She was giving me a ride to church, as I am short a vehicle just now.) Fortunately, most of the work was already done, so I stood there looking gorgeous in my new outfit from Tina, and held Grandpa's clothes in case anyone needed them. "Saul," Tina called me, snickering. (From Acts 7:58.) To save time, I called Tiggy and asked her to pack my computer and cord, so we would be ready.

The trip in to church didn't go very smoothly, either. Ultimately, we had to turn around almost there, and meet with Mom to disgorge two passengers. To spare anyone embarrassment, I will call them Mevon and Merafina. 

With not much time to spare, I began to assemble the electronics to hook up the power point. Computer? Check. Cord? Cord?

Cord?

Um, Tiggy, where did you put my cord? The stunned look on her face and involuntary 'o' of her mouth told me all I needed to know. Suddenly I felt like that kid with his nose pressed against the glass, and no way to get in and reach my precious sermon.

With a hasty contemplation, I realized there was no time to reconstruct my intended sermon. It was too much information, taken back and forth from several sources, and scattered over numerous chapters in the Bible. I just am not that good. What I needed was something simple. Something I could just stick to one place, go through bit by bit, and have ready in 15 minutes or less. Something very much like....that passage in Matthew.

Maybe I did pull a Jonah by not picking that in the first place. Maybe I ignored the quiet prompting of the Holy Spirit, asking me to share the lessons from the feeding of the 5,000. Whatever the case, God mercifully brought me back around and dropped me off at Ninevah, thanks to a missing power cord. 

The sermon went well, much better than I deserved. And yet, that's what the lesson was all about. Jesus could have created an opulent banquet, there in the middle of the desert. The people could have feasted on dainties and delicacies. Instead, Jesus turned to the people - asking what resources they had to offer.

It wasn't much, just one boy's lunch. Bread and fish, the usual dinner of the poor folk. But placed in the hands of Jesus, it became enough to feed 5,000 men plus women and children, with 12 baskets left over to share. 

That happened to me today. Left with the electronic equivalent of about a half a loaf and no fish, I was sunk. With my inadequate resources in the hands of the Master, they grew to fill the need.

And I have my next sermon done already...

Death on the Prairie

or

I Can't Feel My Arms Any More

It was Jack's bright idea, more or less. He saw an infomercial for an intensive fitness program, hot on the heels of his doctor telling him that he needed to get back into shape. She had a nice little chart in her office, ranging from Very Underweight to Grossly Obese. I am much too kind to tell you where exactly he fell within that scale. Suffice it to say that even I was surprised. (I am also much too discreet to tell you exactly where I fell within that scale. I'd rather tell you my age. It's 39. And a half.)

Being the wonderful wife I am, I ordered the program before he had the chance to, and it arrived at the end of last week. We were both very excited, and I even put the pull-up bar together so he wouldn't have to. Since the program has six days of hard work, and a seventh day of rest - sound familiar, anyone? - we started on Sunday.

Oy!

Dizzying rounds of push-ups and pull-ups followed each other in quick succession. Since Jack hadn't yet mounted the pull-up bar, we did air pull-ups. Even with that major advantage, we still keeled over just past the half-way mark. I was pretty sure I would never move my arms again. You can imagine my dismay when Jack noticed later that, not only did we quit early, but we entirely missed the Ab Ripper. Gaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!!

Last night was leg exercises. Though nowhere near the level of the video, I enjoyed this one much more. After a whole summer of brisk biking, even going up steep hills in high gear to give my muscles an extra pounding. Jack has not been riding bicycles. He made it to 27 minutes before collapsing on the couch, swearing he would never walk again. I nearly had to carry him to bed.

(In case any of you are familiar with this well-known 90-day program, let me just assure you that I will be substituting other stretches in on the days they recommend yoga.)

Tonight is Shoulders and Arms, followed by...yep... the Ab Ripper. 

Maybe we will at least watch it this time.

Painfully yours,

Noni Beth

PS Even for someone of my customary gregariousness, it was too much of a stretch to post "before" pictures in a completely public place. Especially THOSE "before" shots. For those of you who are my friends on Facebook, you will find the "Before" album visible to friends only. Any of the rest of you who would like to see them can email me at you_neak@yahoo.com. 

Stay tuned for periodic updates on our progress. Do not hold your breath for video. There won't be any.

I Prefer to Remember Them the Way They Were...

They were so cute! So adorable! So HAPPY!

For those who have not seen The Rest of the Story, click below:

Bob

Larry

See if I trust Tina with any more of my vegetable friends!   >:(

In the Quiet, Misty Morning

In the quiet, misty morning,
When the moon has gone to bed,
When the sparrows hush their singing,
And the sky is clear and red,


When the summer's ceased its gleaming,
When the corn is past its prime,
When adventure's lost its meaning,
I'll be homeward bound in time.

A mother of three busy children has little time for solitude or reflection. You can imagine how delighted I was when my fond expectations were realized, and ~part~ of my school bus trips each day contained large helpings of both peace and quiet. 

The early morning rides were glorious! Leaving shortly after sunrise, driving dramatically through the misty morning, while the sky was clear and red.... simply gorgeous. Simply silent.

I leave town headed east, the sun shining on my face, a rainbow of clouds streaking the sky ahead and above. A set of hills - the nearest thing we have to a mountain - rises in my path. I climb it effortlessly, glancing enviously at the abandoned air force base at the crest. At one time, nearly 100 children came from the base to Westby School. Now, it lies abandoned and still, old buildings wearing the ravages of time. Except for the giant concrete tower, the edifice I most envy. How I would love my own concrete tower!

From the air force base, the road drops down the other side, curving past the turnoff to Skjermo Lake (pronounced SCYARE-mo), and winding narrowly between two lakes, brightly reflecting the colors of the sky. These lakes are fairly new, left over from the spring floods that never quite went away. Waterfowl throng the liquid paradise, large numbers swimming right up next to the road, then curving off in a flying fantasia just ahead of my approach.

Sheer magic.

After several mornings, Devon asked if he could ride along with me. I said yes, if he got up early. I expected that to be the end of it, but to my surprise he bounced out of bed, ready on time. My personal suspicion is he slept in his clothes to improve his efficiency, but the results were impressive.

As we pointed our enchanted yellow chariot into the rising sun, Devon began firing off comments and questions faster than an auctioneer in a hurry. The plethora of lexicon bubbled up, finally spilling out the windows and trailing behind the bus as we drove.

The next morning, he brought his baritone.

Oom-pah, Oom-pah-pah, Oom-pah, and ever time we went over a bump, OOOOGAH!!!

Oom-pah, OOOOOOGAH, Oom-pah, Oom-pah-pah, Oom-OOOOOOOGAH!!!!!!!! We went over a lot of bumps. 

I made him put the baritone away shortly before the first stop, and then the auction began again. One phrase stood out in the dizzying blur of sound. "Wow, Mom - it's so interesting to come with you in the morning. Now I know just what you go through!"

I smiled to myself. No, Devon, you don't quite know what I go through.

Oom-pah.

If you find it's me you're missing,
And you're hoping I'll return,
To your thoughts I'll soon be listening,
In the road I'll stop and turn,


Then the wind will set me racing,
As my journey nears its end,
And my path I'll be retracing,
Till I'm homeward bound again.


~ Marta Keen

Mr. Safety

If you know Jack, you also know that he is a stickler for safety. No matter where he is or what he's doing, safety is uppermost on his mind. All the children in the family, (and perhaps even some of the grownups), have gotten catchy little lessons (lectures) from Dad/Uncle Jack/Sweetheart/Mr. Safety.

So I was rather surprised to get a phone call from him today, while he was working at the church. "Um, Dear, I have some bad news for you."

Great. What did I do now? Casually, "Oh? What is it?"

Hesitation. "I need to go across the street."

Across the street is not generally a good thing when you are at the church. Across the street can either mean the public swimming pool, or the hospital. At the end of October, with temperatures below freezing every night, it's pretty safe to rule out the pool. 

Across the street is where Mom had to go 2 years ago when she got food poisoning while she was at the church. To completely acquit the church, the food poisoning had nothing to do with the location. Mom imported her own nearly-deadly bacteria. After some hours, when she was too weak to resist, we imported her nearly-dead carcass to....across the street.

It turns out that Sweetheart, aka Mr. Safety, had been cutting on the wall with his knife. Despite previous lectures he had given on the subject, he was not wearing work gloves. Despite previous lectures given by every father on the planet when handing their son a pocketknife, he cut toward himself. It went something like this.

Cut. Cut. Cut. Hmmm, I notice that I am cutting toward myself. Perhaps I had better cut away from....Aieeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!

It was quite a gash. Thankfully, the slight slant to the angle kept it, barely, from hitting deep and important things like nerves and tendons. Nothing wrong with his clotting factor, either. By the time an hour was up and he got to see the doc, it was stuck so tightly that she couldn't open it even to check and make sure it was clean. Good thing he washed it while he had the chance!

A line of handy stickum, technical name of Dermabond, plus one band-aid, and he was back working on the church again, without even needing stitches. Oh, and a tetanus shot, cheerfully administered by the same nice lady that gave Devon most of his rabies vaccinations. 

Being the loving, loyal, and above all HELPFUL wife that I am, I made him a special sign. I'm sure he will want to display it prominently in his office.

ACCIDENT FREE

FOR

0

DAYS

He can thank me later.

Random Bear Goes to School

Who is Random Bear? If you don't know, click here.

Early one morning, Random Bear woke up and decided to go to school. Technically, he had been bearnapped, but still he wanted to get an education.

Random Bear rides the school bus for the first time ever!

On a fascinating side note, one of the ladies at the school shed a bit of light on Random Bear's possible past. She said that, when they were very small, her brother and sister each had a bear just like him. They had won them as prizes at the fair. One was colored just like Random Bear, and the other was a bright color. She had not thought of them in years, and felt very nostalgic to see their identical twin cousin.

He's a big boy now!

Random Bear goes to class.

Random Bear learns about anatomy, and...

Eats in the cafeteria.

Drinks do not go so well.

Random Bear is glad to be back "home" after a tiring day at school.

Keep a sharp eye out - there's no telling where he'll show up next.

Bits and Pieces

A few humorous anecdotes to turn up the corners of your mouth.

We don't celebrate Halloween, so I'm always trying to come up with tactful but humorous ways to express my lack of Halloweenity to all the people who ask. Today on the bus, one of the young gentlemen asked what I was going to dress as for Halloween. I thought for a moment before replying, "A bus driver!"

**********

Have you been wondering what happened to Elsie, the adorable calico kitten that I got to hold before Tina? I left the poor baby wailing in the darkness with only food to comfort her, since Jack had said absoLUTEly no more cats. When he got home that night, I showed him the blog post, including the photo Devon took of me holding Elsie.

"You mean you can HOLD her??? Pick her up? Well, go get her and bring her in!!!" She has been inseparable from the house since then. She does have the naughty habit of going to the bathroom in my FLOWER POTS, which makes my eyebrows turn down alarmingly. So today I gave her a litterbox filled with potting soil. So far she has snubbed it, so Tiggy suggested planting some basil in it. Dat little girl is a smart cookie!

**********

Damon had a report due this week, from his field trip to Medicine Lake. (A brief digression: if you have not read the early blog posts, Medicine Lake is a wildlife refuge. This time of year it's a birdwatcher's wonderland, since our part of the country is where the western and eastern flyways intersect. It's even on the birding.com top 200 birdwatching spots in North America.) He decided to do it the hard way, to "save time". Of course.

He could have painstakingly re-typed his final draft. It might have even taken him several hours. Instead, he decided to use Windows Voice Recognition/Speech to Text software. And he got done in a fraction of the time it takes an elephant to reach full gestation. See, he would say what he wanted his report to read, and the speech to text program would recognize his voice and translate it into nearly every word in the English language besides what he actually said.

His Waterloo arrived in the form of the innocuous sentence, "The cooks made us sandwiches." The program just couldn't wrap its little binaries around the word "sandwiches". After 20 or so tries, Damon had improved it to read, "The cooks made us pan with sheep." After a jillionty more tries, he finally gave up after it read "sand" and "witches".

**********

Tonight's final storylet is brought to you courtesy of Potto. I have mentioned to friends that Potto and a home office don't mix well. Today was the best example of that I have seen yet.

First thing this morning, Jack was on a business call before he even started to get dressed. With bare legs, he sat there, chatting along. "Well, that way won't work, but I have some ideas for how we can OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ~stop it!!!~ fix it for you anyway."

The sudden, deafening, high-pitched cry of pain would have given famed soprano Jenny Lind a run for her money. The Swedish Nightingale, and the Native American Morningshriek.

Potto, neglected and abandoned and alone, had crept up near those alluring bare legs. No one, no one at all, would pay any attention to him, and he is very small. Finally, he sprang into a daring leap, both front paws catching and holding on the top of Jack's thigh. There he hung, hind legs dangling like a wind sock in the doldrums, until I dove to his rescue.

No, Pottoes and home offices do not belong together. Not at all.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Can't Hug Every Cat

Inspired by the Youtube spoof, "Can't Hug Every Cat", Tina decided to start her "CAN Hug Every Cat" campaign. I don't want to spoil her version of the story, so I will just say that I was drafted to help with some of the photos.

Ironically, as the photo session ended, a series of pathetic mewls came from the bushes. A frantically lonely little calico, just driven away from its mother, cried and cried for someone to love it. And then proceeded to spurn every attempt to bestow it with all the adoration and attention it so fervently desired. 

It was getting quite dark in the shadows, 

but I didn't dare use flash as I stalked the cat-huntress. Arms held wide, she called it again and again. "I want to hug you! I will put you on a rainbow!" 

 

No use. The baby just wouldn't come. So Tina had to find out the hard way that regardless of how adorable, no, she CAN'T hug every cat.

But I can.

Is It Just Me?

Or does everything look like Potto?

There! That's better!!!

The Clothes Make the Cat