If you’re not being treated with love and respect, check your price tag. Perhaps you have marked yourself down. It’s you who tells people what you’re worth by what you accept. Get off the clearance rack and get behind the glass where they keep the valuables. Learn to value yourself more. If you don’t, no one else will.
Many thanks to Jeanne for permission to share this.
This is a photo of my beloved Bobb-O. When he passed over to the Rainbow Bridge, I was devastated. Heartbroken. Ground to a powder.
I made special donations to several animal shelters in his memory, but as the weeks passed, I felt the best thing I could do to honor Bobb-O (who was a rescue–a gorgeous, solid black bobtail), was to rescue another kitty from death row. My husband agreed. Oreo, our sweet black-and-white tuxedo kitty, was lonely for a friend and so we set out to find him one.
Going to shelters breaks my heart–all those faces looking up at me. My throat closes and I get teary-eyed. It’s so hard to pick. My husband and I held hands, feeling sad that we couldn’t take them all. While I gravitated to a gray kitty named Charlie, my husband noticed a tiny black kitten. And when I say tiny, I mean he fit in the palm of my husband’s hand.
In an eye-blink we knew he was “the one” for us, and even before signing the adoption papers, we named the little guy Frankie.
A kind woman who works for a veterinarian had pulled Frankie from death row just days before we adopted him. It’s sickening that this precious and sweet little boy was going to be killed for no other reason than his color.
Yes, Frankie is black and it’s a disgusting fact that black cats are far too often deemed as “bad luck” (which is so ridiculously ignorant I won’t even comment), and they are said to be not as pretty or as cute as other cats. Healthy and loving black kitties are murdered by the thousands each year.
We brought him home and from the moment his paws hit the floor, he was filled with wonder. Often he’d sit in my library window and gaze into the sky.
I was concerned how Oreo and Frankie would get along, but it was love at first sight.
From the get-go they’ve been inseparable. Now, 8-months later, Frankie has shot up and is almost as big as Oreo. I recently took a photo of them in my window, and it sums up their relationship perfectly.
I want to thank all of you who sent lovely cards and emails of sympathy when Bobb-O passed away, and I also wanted to share a picture I recently took that captures the beauty of friendship and the very true sentiment that life does, indeed, go on.
Loving Frankie doesn’t diminish the incredibly special bond I had with Bobbo-O and still have with Oreo (or any of the wonderful furbabies who came before him). Love is boundless and brings with it a healing that can only take place when we allow ourselves to embrace life. At least that’s the way I see it.
“Some people delight in clipping wings because they themselves cannot fly.”
—Robert A Heinlein
I live in a small historical area—most of the homes were built in the mid-to-late 1800s. All are proud. The trees are old and proud too; many of them are older than the homes. For all my life I’ve been crazy about historical homes and ancient trees (all trees for that matter). So when I was house hunting in 1998 and found the home of my dreams, I also found the tree of my dreams in the back yard.
When I bought my home, I named her Mamie, and the giant green ash I’ve named Ernie. I love Ernie, he’s somewhere between 110-130 years old and stands approximately 60 feet high.
Ernie has withstood winds in excess of 50 mph, the assault of major ice storms, and the backlash of several tornadoes. Three years ago I watched in horror when a storm whipped and torqued this giant tree like a swizzle stick. I stood at the window chanting, “Hold on, Ernie. Hold on!” And he did.
But Ernie is in trouble. His age and the many assaults have taken their toll. Over the winter he developed a split in his trunk and a nasty gap on the opposite side. Some people said, “Cut the tree down and plant another one,” and I looked at them like they were crazy.
Ernie matters!!!
Ash trees generally have a lifespan of 200+ years, and I plan on doing everything I can to give Ernie a full life.
After consulting with my arborist and keeping my fingers crossed that Ernie could be saved, a plan was in place: four cables to brace the large main branches and then the latest technology—bolts driven through the trunk for internal support. Ernie now has three of these bolts, and as he continues to grow, he will heal around them, making him stronger.
This photo will give you an idea of just how big Ernie is!
Ernie’s “surgery” went well, and he was treated to a special deep-root feeding. So now I’ll wait and hope and pray that all the measures I’ve taken to ensure Ernie’s life over the past 13 years (which have exceeded the cost of a Ford Fiesta), will work.
Ernie is worth it, all of it. He matters!
While on a plane returning home from Charleston, the people sitting in front of me were discussing their “Bucket Lists” and it got me thinking. What are the top ten things I would put on my list? I was surprised by what I wrote down …
