- I lost my best friend-sister-cousin to cancer
- I was able to really step up for her when she was sick. (I am extremely grateful for the generosity and caring from my employers during that time.)
- The grieving process is lot like the Grand Canyon. You can't really appreciate the imensity, scope, and vastness of it until your standing in front of it.
- I lost a bunch of weight. No, this was not stress-related. This was a very conscious, present process.
- I am redefining who I am and my place in the world and chagrined to face my own judgements about fat and thin.
- I am continuing to find my own voice in my artwork and discovered that I just may actually have some talent.
- Nature - and life in general - can be messy, smelly, gorey, ugly, brutal, and in your face. And - it's not personal!
- For the most part I actually like my job.
- Although I started out this year a bit afraid of him, I think I understand Coyote a little better than before.
- Tatiana rocks!
- Life really is what happens when your busy making other plans.
- Everything is always changing.
- Skeletons aren't as scary as they used to be - especially when teaching you to surf.
- It's really OK to f-ck up. Really. It's OK.
- It is quite possible that rules really were made to be broken. Especially the ones in your head.
- These last two are intrinsically connected.
- Nothing is ever all good or all bad. Nothings is ever written in stone. There are no absolutes.
- Sometimes it's really best to say nothing at all.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Quite frankly - I'm glad to see this year come to a close. It's not been an easy one - but it has been heeeeeyuuuuge on the personal growth front. In an attempt to get my head around stuff, here are some things that have happened or I have learned in the past year:
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
As they say, everything is always changing, and we are announcing a change to the way we’ll be sharing our annual holiday card. In an effort to conserve both personal and global resources, this is the last year we'll be sending out paper, hard-copy Sloane-Ochoa original holiday cards.
But we’re not going away! We still want to share our original creations and best wishes with folks so, starting in 2009, we will be sending our holiday card via email and also posting it for viewing online.
That gives you a whole year to make sure we have your email address! You can send it to us at:
Reducing our footprint, one step at a time!
Another Sloane~Ochoa Original
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Jon Carroll, one of my favorite S.F. Chronicle columnists, often gives his readers a warning before launching into a "cat column". Apparently, some of his readers dislike his accountings of feline antics. I'm not one of them--I love his cat columns--but I'm going to take a page from his notebook and give warning here and now. Warning--this is a cat posting. Moreover, this is a feral cat posting--and it's not short. Does it get any better than that?
As I've previously mentioned, I have been both blessed and cursed to share my life with a group of feral cats. I've made a commitment to each of them--they've each been spayed or neutered, microchipped, immunized, and given daily food and water--and they have returned the favor by gracing us with a peek into their different personalities and social structure.
When Bluto first arrived on the scene in May, 2001, he was what my records describe as a "Big Nasty Orange Tom". We called him Bluto because all the other cats were afraid of him. He fought with the other cats and, when I managed to trap him, he was hateful, striking at me twice through the trap. After his release Bluto gradually mellowed and had become a regular fixture by the time Taran joined the group in June of 2002. It didn't take long for Taran and Bluto to bond, often sleeping curled up together and grooming each other. By July of that year Bluto was a sweet, albeit shy, marshmallow of cat, wholly dedicated to his feral feline family. Where Taran had assumed the more paternal, leadership role, Bluto was the nurturing, snuggling maternal presence of the group. Tortilina is the mighty huntress, keeping the yard free of rats and the only member of our clan who has kept her svelte figure. Every member of the clan looks after Mama Kitty, who has always had breathing issues and they all treat her with incredible affection and tenderness. Then there is Cinder Kitty who I call our Outrider. She comes and goes as she pleases, drifting in and out of the group, and is another story for another day.
Caring for feral cats is not easy. Crazy cat lady euphemisms aside, it has been a great lesson in love and surrender and all the different ways those can both be defined. I will never be able to touch them--they will not stand for that. Occasionally someone will get close enough to sniff my hand, but I can only guess I smell unpleasant to the feral feline nose because they will recoil and move away as quickly as possible. I may feed them, but short of that initial trapping, any kind of medical attention is virtually impossible. These guys ain't gonna fall for the same trick twice and, even if I did manage to trap them again, in most cases the extreme stress involved in a trip to the vet, and the difficulty and danger of handling and treating an essentially wild animal rules this out. It's not unlike those wildlife photographers who document events, but do not become involved as life and death works itself out in front of them. The biggest difference--I have made a lifetime commitment to these cats, whatever the scope of their lifetime might mean.
So I get to watch from a very privileged, yet distant place, while these guys move through their lives. We saw Bluto's health declining. He was old by feral standards. He had become increasingly hard of hearing and we were careful not to startle him when we could tell he didn't hear us coming. He spent almost all his time in our yard so we hoped he would be safe. Often the pupils of his eyes were unequal, one being significantly more dilated than the other. His coat, once dense and thick, started to look as if he was molting. Then one of his eyes became severely infected. Critics might say it was unfair to let him suffer, but I still believe a trip to the vet would have made him suffer more--and it would have been impossible to give him any kind of ongoing treatment. So we watched as the infection grew worse and sent him healing thoughts and love as often as possible, but always from a distance.
Bluto has been missing for well over a week now and we know in our hearts that he is gone. I fear that his end was not pleasant and I hope that our love and care made some difference in the overall quality of his life while he was here. His feline family called for him for several days, but that has tapered off. As I look back I marvel over the transformation his personality underwent and what an integral part of his feline family he became--the cat who once fought with everyone.
We all miss his warm, loving, hunk of a presence in our back yard. We miss how he and Taran would curl up together on the front porch, both impossibly fitting on the one chair. We miss his constancy and his shy, sweet, unassuming self.