What I Love 3/365: The Smell of Cat Fur

Looking for a cuddle

Looking for a cuddle

One of the great things about living with cats is that moment when one of them comes in from outside and wants some attention and leaps up on a lap or the bed or a sink while you’re washing your hands and head butts you and you bend over and bury your nose in their fur, that thick soft place right over her shoulder blades. It is one of the freshest, sweetest scents in the universe, made of sunshine and breezes and the brush of cosmo leaves and the thorough attentions of both this cat and her compatriots who must spend approximately twenty-two of of every twenty-four hours on grooming themselves and each other.

 

Things I love 2/365: stationary

https://www.flickr.com/photos/33037982@N04/3439173198/in/photolist-6eUEnC-71UDSe-9AqRd8-6L5uah-5nh7oi-5ioJUj-9AqR52-5ZcsaN-81Et1V-dmFhfw-EFFvP-dvKqa3-99ZHce-dvDQ3B-dmFbsK-dvDzHi-dvK9x5-dvDyEV-dJc6Ne-f8FT8v-5xgx1A-7qb257-niUaPG-bhxm18-5KhiH9-4wcMiq-dPcqJ1-4pmRux-fuayjr-6XcgY-k6TeEL-mHfy6U-6AK97H-4bEQzy-cCqxrL-PbqZy-9a2ccw-cCacbA-bxRwye-5wr2JY-6vJtE4-ec8Pp9-99Y2QP-xgv7-5SfZrZ-8QRfLH-578g6c-7bKo9j-7de1cU-79YWNSJust for the record, I make no promises whatsoever to make this a  consecutive 365 days of things I love. I just mean to get 365 days down in some way. This time, it happens to be two days in a row.

Today’s love is stationary. I was a world champion pen pal as a teen, and wrote hundred and hundreds of letters on beautiful paper. All kinds of paper, usually with matching envelopes, sometimes scented. I carried on a long correspondence with a woman named Paula, who lived on Long Island, and with a cousin who had to go to prison, and later, when I was in college, long letters between the man who would be the father of my children. He had/has great penmanship–quirky and elegant and calligraphic–and it won me over. I loved coming home from a long day of classes and opening the door of my Victorian apartment building to find a card that had been slipped through the gold mail slot on the floor. My name in that beautiful hand.  Often a card with a romantic theme.

I wrote back on paper I chose with great consideration at the local Hallmark store–paper with pianos at the top, or in many soft colors, on which I wrote with various colors of ink.  I once found a card with a drawing of an exuberant lion swinging from a tree swing, his mane flowing back from his smiling face, and it was so exactly how I thought of him that I bought it immediately.

We don’t correspond by letter any more, and I miss it.  I have boxes of letters from and to my grandmother, letters filled with the news of the time, women’s news, news of polio closing movie theaters and children fighting and subtle references to marriages that are challenged.  I once had a huge bag full of letters my best friend and I wrote back and forth every night for three years during junior high.  We folded them in a particular way and exchanged them upon meeting in the morning. They’re lost now, I am sorry to report.

I still love stationary and often want to buy it, but I don’t know who I would write to.

Did you ever have a pen pal?

 

What I Love 1/365: Cosmos

php4bzcaZAMBlogging has been coming up again for me.  I tried to get going again at the start of this year, but this theme and I are having fights all the time and I don’t like it very much.  I’ve asked my wizardress to find a new one, but in the meantime, let’s get this moving.  I miss blogging.  I like blogging. It’s the one place I feel I can just be myself with all of you, talk about writing or gardening or movies or hiking or whatever and it’s fine for that day.

Someone suggested a theme of what I know for sure as a possibility, but I think I’m going for the Full Love version.  On this lazy, cool Sunday morning, when I have no desire to do much of anything, what I love is cosmos. They’re a humble flower, simple and exuberant, and they grow very well in the high, harsh, short season conditions of Colorado.  In the evenings, this stand dances in the breezes, and every morning, they reach for the sunshine like happy children.  I devote a full square of my garden to them, for pure love.

What is a flower you love? 

Notes from the Airport Food Court

It’s a gloomy morning in Texas, the air thick and cool, heavy with the thunderstorms that will line my trip home today. A handful of Italian men with good shoes and sport coats, one even with a ponytail and a ragged bit of black whiskers on his cheeks, hang by the coffee stand, chattering among themselves which is how I know they are Italian. It makes me think of Amara, who is three and speaks robot mostly, but also languages of her own creation, and we spoke them back and forth all weekend, making up rivers of sound that sometimes sounded French or Korean or Vulcan-ish according to the moment. She adorned her body with stickers from head to toe, then laughingly screamed as I pulled each one off. She rolled all over me, kissed me a hundred times. We planted two flower boxes with coreopsis and petunias, flowers that won’t mind if she picks from them every day.

I’ve been on the road a lot this month, and wrote a bazillion words, and before that, I was sort of in that lost land of recovery, so I’m really looking forward to the upcoming days when I can plant my own garden, and putter, and read a lot to refill the well.

Amara and her wonderful parents will come to visit in July–there’s a wedding, and a notable birthday–and in the meantime, I have a book to work on at a different sort of pace. Peaches and the mountains and a certain golden light. I’ll be sending Jess and Mercedes, Tyler and Kaleb, off to you soon.

Now I’ll amble down to the gate, resisting the siren smell of Sbarro pizza. What are you up to this ordinary Monday?