Looking For Momma

          I know some of you know this but I don't think I wrote about it and I'd like to do that now.

          In April of 2018 our handsome son and his beautiful wife announced they were expecting a son in October. Andrew was thrilled because he wanted a brother.

          Unfortunately, we lost baby Jax when Kandyce was 21 weeks into her pregnancy.

          I know, right. It still makes me teary-eyed to think about it.

          And now we have another bun in the oven, so to speak. Kandyce is going to have another baby.

          Last week the kids had a gender reveal party. Thanks to the internet, we were able to be there as they cut the cake.

          "GIRL...GIRL...GIRL," Was the chant in the room. It's been seventeen years since a baby girl was born into Kandyce's side of the family and everyone wanted a girl.

          Except Andrew. He still wanted a brother.

          I wanted a baby granddaughter too but only because you can dress girls in pretty dresses and ponytails.

          Kandyce cut the cake with Kevin close by.

          "Ohhhhhh!" Kandyce exclaimed as she saw the color before anyone else did and a big smile graced her beautiful face. She opened the cake so we could all see we're going to have a girl!

          "Are you happy?" Kevin asked.

          "Yes!" I told him, then added. "But I'd have been just as happy if it'd been blue."

          That night, as I lay in bed, in that zone between wake and sleep, I couldn't wait to tell Momma, then I remembered she was gone — and tears welled up in my eyes.

           That was the first time that I truly, deeply, missed my mother.

          Maybe it's been building for the last couple of weeks because I've had several episodes of melancholy. I really, really, super-duper really miss my daily conversations with Momma. I had someone I could tell things too; someone I could share things with that I don't share with you. Not important things per se, just the mundane doings of everyday life and she was always interested in whatever I had to say. Now I've got no one to tell these things too.

          "Mom's obit will appear in next week's Dushore paper," Patti, my oldest and much-adored sister told me.

          The Sullivan Review, Dushore's newspaper, is published once a week. I asked around to find out what day it came out but no one knew, not even the checkout clerks at Connie's, the local grocery. I called the newspaper.

          "We're putting it together today," she told. "It'll be out tomorrow."

          That would make it Wednesday.

          "We're going to breakfast Thursday morning," I said to Mike. "We can stop on the way home and pick up a paper."

          Wednesday night we had a dusting of snow. It was still coming down in lazy flakes as we headed across the Rainbow Bridge into Wyalusing.

          Mike normally gets an omelet of some kind and I always get the same thing for breakfast. The Number Four. Two eggs, cooked hard, white toast, home fries, bacon, and I add a short stack on the side.

          "I've only ever known one other person who ordered their eggs that way," Mike's buddy Vernon said when he heard me order.

          When my food comes I butter and syrup the pancakes and Mike helps me eat them saving a few pieces for the critters. Even our cats like pancakes. Two slices of toast come cut in half and I'll slap one of my eggs between one of the halves, saving the other half and one egg for the critters. I'll eat two of the three slices of bacon but only pick at the home fries. Mike helps with those too since it's my least favorite part of this breakfast. To top it all off, Mike always picks ham out of his omelet for them too. Then I get a box and take home the saved critter food.

          At home, the girls meet us at the door. It's like they know it's Thursday. I'll set the takeout box on the floor in the kitchen. "You better watch it, Itsy," I tell her just for kicks. "Don't let the kitties get your yum-yum." And I go to hang my coat and put away anything else we may have picked up while in town.

          Invariably the cats will go to sniff the box and Itsy will raise a ruckus as she chases them away then goes back to guard the box.

          I know, right! The simple pleasures of life.

          But on this particular Thursday, we didn't head right for home, we stopped at Connie's for a Sullivan Review. There wasn't one single issue on the shelf.

          "We sold a lot of papers yesterday," the gal told me. "I guess we sold out."

          The next stop on my quest to pick up a newspaper with Momma's obit in it was the Dandy Mini Mart. I picked up a paper and went back out to the Jeep where Mike waited. I thumbed through the paper, found the page with the obits and Momma wasn't there. "Maybe it was in last week's." I thought maybe Patti had submitted it in time that it made last week's edition after all. "The newspaper office in Dushore will have last week's paper. Can we go get one?"

          "Alright," Mike agreed. "But call first and make sure they have one."

          I called. "Do you have back issues for sale in your office?" I asked the pleasant sounding female voice who answered the phone.

          "Yes, we do."

          "Can I stop in and pick one up?" I asked.

          "You sure can."

          "Make sure your Mom's in it," Mike said.

          "Can you tell me if my mom's obit is in it or not?"

          "What's her name?" she asked.

          "Dorothy Bowers."

          I heard a few clicks of a keyboard before she answered. "I believe she's in this week's edition."

          "I just looked through this week's and I didn't see her. Maybe I missed it."

          "It's on page four."

          I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear and flipped to page four. "I don't see her..."

          "It's the January ninth edition."

          I flipped to the front page and spotted the date. "Oh. I just picked up this paper from the Dandy and it's January third. When will your paper be out..."

          "It should already be out."

          "We were just at Connie's and they didn't have any papers," I informed her.

          "That's very interesting," she assured me.

          Rather than drive the whole way into Dushore for a paper we stopped at the Dandy in New Albany and I got one there.

          How about two road pictures.

          This one is still some of the flood damage.

          Mike had a doctor's appointment this past week. Just a checkup. Where he only had to go once a year in Missouri to renew his blood pressure medication, the doctors here want to see him more often. So this was a six-month checkup.

          We were getting ready to go and let the dogs out in their fenced-in yard off the kitchen. Then went and did the normal hair-combing teeth-brushing thing while they took care of business. Coming back into to the kitchen I glanced out the door and saw them both standing there, ready to be let back in.

          After I make my travel coffee, I thought. In the last minute rushing around to remember everything, I ticked off my mental list. Coffee, camera, purse... what am I forgetting? I glanced at the corner of the butcher block where I stage things to take with me and there wasn't anything there.

          Ginger always wants to go with us when she senses we're going somewhere. I talk to her when she can go. "You can go," I tell her and she dances for me. When she can't go I found it best not to say anything at all and she'll sit on the carpet by the table and watch us go out the door.

          This day I glanced to see her sitting there and she wasn't. She must have gone to the couch already, I thought.

          We needed to stop at the bank on our way through town. Mike went in and I opened the Bible on my phone. I opened to Luke, where I was reading when I closed it and hadn't read more than a few lines when it hit me.

          I didn't let the dogs back in!

          Oh my gosh! I'd forgotten to let the dogs back in! That's why Ginger wasn't there to see us off! I ran it through my mind and I could see it like it was a movie. Coming into the kitchen, seeing the dogs through the door, making my coffee, picking everything up and going out the door into the garage, glancing back and not seeing Ginger sitting there. I could see everything except the part where I let the dogs back in. I think I remember letting Smudge in, but did I let the girls in at the same time? I debated with myself. Do I tell Mike? He won't be happy about going back to the house. Surely, I let them in with Smudge. Why can't I remember that! If they're out they'll be okay until we get home. And I envisioned their little Yorkie bodies shivering as they sat on the cold stone by the door, ears down, eyes begging to be let back in. No they won't — it's COLD out!

          Mike opened the door and slid behind the wheel.

          "Did we let the girls back in?" I asked.

          "I don't know."

          "I can't remember letting them back in."

          Mike heaved a great sigh and turned the Jeep toward the house.

          "I don't know if I'll be more upset because I forgot to let them in or if they're in and we made a trip back to the house for nothing," I said on the way up the mountain.

          Mike opened the garage door as we came in the drive and when I got out of the Jeep, I could hear the girls barking. But is it because they're outside or in? I wondered as I went through the garage and into the house.

          They were in. Am I losing my mind or what?

          I took pictures on the way to Towanda. I've been trying to get a shot of this barn. 

           By the time we get to a spot where the wires aren't in the way, the trees are. This is the best I can from the road.

           This is another picture I've been trying to get but short of stopping the Jeep and walking to find the best vantage point, I won't get it.

          This big old house had been turned into a motel and now the big old porch has been torn off. I probably have some before pictures but it would take me a long time to find them.

       

   

          We have an issue with one of the cats in the house. Someone has been peeing where they've got no business peeing. It all started a couple of three months ago. I have two rugs in my half-bath. One in front of the sink, one in front of the toilet. I never turn the light on when I go in because there's enough light leaking in from the kitchen. I was sitting there letting my water down, so to speak, when I smelled the unmistakable aroma of cat pee. I turned on the light and found the rug in front of the toilet was soaked.

          How could I not step on that, you ask. Because the rug is longer than wider and the long end goes the whole way to the wall and that was the end he chose to pee on. I never would have stepped on it. I picked the rug up and trashed it. I cleaned the wall and floor then put a pee pad down.

          "Peg, I don't want them peeing there," Mike says to me.

          "I don't either, but if they're going to, I'd rather have them pee on the pee pad."

          Then I dug out my trail camera and set it up facing the bathroom door thinking I might catch the culprit.

          Weeks and weeks pass without a reoccurrence. The trail camera got knocked around, moved around, and eventually put back in the drawer where he lives when not in use. The pee pad got picked up and life went on.

          A few weeks ago, when I was hanging clothes in the closet I smelled cat urine. I traced it down to a duffle bag and purse that were nestled together in the bottom of the closet. Both were cat peed, both went into the trash. I blamed it on myself. There might have been a time or two in the past couple of months where I'd let the litter boxes go an extra day or two before I scooped them out. And I didn't know how long the pee had been there.

          A couple of weeks ago, again in the half-bath, I was sitting there and saw the corner of the carpet nearest the sink and closest to the wall was rolling up. I thought it odd. The very next day I'm in there and smell cat pee again! I turned on the light and see that someone had peed against the wall and it puddled causing the corner of the carpet to roll. I took it outside and cleaned the wall and floor with a strong cleaner. In the spring, I'll try washing that one since it's a really nice, big rug. If I can't save it, I can always throw it away later.

          I still don't know which of the five cats in the house is doing it.

          My glass hobby has taken over parts of my kitchen. I like it that way. It allows me to work and still be available to Mike if he should need me. I'm close to the sink and microwave and coffee and computer and all the things I love. Except for one small corner near the stove, the rest of the center island holds my glass, cutting table, and soldering station. There's isn't room for my grinder so he's delegated to the end of the other counter close to the fridge. Behind my grinder are several bottles of cleaners and polishes as well as a stack of microfiber cloths. Got that picture in your head? You can kind of see what I'm talking about in this picture.

          I was working on the hearts for a string of chimes I call Heartfalls when I smell something. It's very faint, so faint in fact that I think I'm imagining it and keep right on working. I catch a whiff of it again and think the water in my grinder is going bad. That's never happened before because between evaporation and splattering I have to add water all the time. I finish one heart and start another when I become convinced I smell something and that something smells like cat pee. I shut off the grinder and sniffed under that end of the cabinet. Nothing. I go back to grinding and the smell persists. Maybe it's wafting in from the bathroom, I think, shut the grinder off, march into the half-bath, flip the light on, sniff, and look around. Nothing. No wet, no smell. In fact, I don't smell it in the utility room at all. I went back to the grinder. I only smell it here, I thought. I got on my tiptoes and leaned over my grinder and the smell becomes stronger, more distinct. Did he pee on my grinder? I was trying to work out how he might accomplish that when, over the top of my splatter shield, I see the stack of microfiber cloths. I touched 'em and they were soaked!

          I was mad. To actually get on my counter and relieve himself really ticked me off! I spent the next 45 minutes moving and cleaning everything, then sniffing, cleaning, sniffing, and cleaning again until I couldn't smell it anymore.

          "Mike, I think it's Macchiato." 

          "Why?"

          "Because he's the only one that's unhappy, always swatting at the others."

          Smudge, Spitfire, and Rascal have been coming in the house for at least a year so I don't know why he's so upset about it now.

          "I can't have him peeing all over the place and I don't know what he'll choose to pee on next. I vote we kennel him until we find out if it is him or not."

          I cleaned the cat condo and moved Macchiato in. He is NOT happy and tells us all day long just how unhappy he is! I let him out for short periods as long as I can keep an eye on him.

          In the meantime, I wondered how long he'd been peeing in those other places before I found out. I tried to Google it. I tried to find out how long cat urine sits before the odor is strong enough for us to smell. One day? A week? A month? I still don't know the answer to that but I found out some other things.

          One web site says that cats are incapable of retaliation, that they won't pee or poop outside of the litter box to get even with you or because they're mad at you.

          Hmmm. I always thought they did — could — would.

          It went on to say it could be a urinary tract infection.

          Of course! I knew that! Why hadn't I thought of that? Last time he had one he peed on my shoulder as I lay in bed! Talk about rude awakenings.

          I cleaned the litter out of his box and the next time he peed, collected the urine and took it to the vet.

          No infection.

          Sigh. Back to the drawing board.

          Something else I learned in my Google search is they recommend one litter box for each cat in the house plus one. I need six; I have three. Well, that's something I can at least try.

          "Peg, litter boxes are expensive."

          I know, right! But something I've learned over the years is it doesn't have to be a box labeled litter box, a plastic tub will work just as well and our cats seem to prefer that over the more conventional ones. You know how I know? It's the one with the most stuff in it. I'll increase the number of litter boxes in the house and see if that solves the problem.

          Saturday, I let Macchiato out for a while in the morning. I lost track of him a few times while Mike and I played our morning game of cards. I went looking and found someone urinated against the outside of the litter box. I have to suspect Macchiato since he was out and he won't be out anymore unless my eye is on him every minute!

          We feel sorry for Macchiato. We're not sure how old he is but the best guess is seven. He's too young to be in the condo for the rest of his life. In the summer he can stay out during the day and only be condoed at night.

          My exercise class took a break over the holidays. On the last Friday of that break, Mike and I went to Mark's Valley View for their fish special. The sun was setting when we were done and I meant to show you the pictures last week. Time and space prohibited that but I still think they're pretty enough to show.

          The colors of the sunset are reflected in the Susquehanna River.

          The colors became more brilliant as we headed for home.

          "If they're still this pretty when we get to Wyalusing, let's go up to the overlook for pictures," I said to Mike.

          "They won't be," he replied.

          And he was right. The colors were gone in the few minutes it took us to get back to town.

         I've been working on glass projects all week and my shelf is getting full. It's time to get them in the mail.

          I love the owl I made. It holds a lock of Kat's hair. Her favorite color was purple and she loved owls. She went every year to the owl festival in Minnesota.

          I was lucky enough to have a piece of really thin clear glass from a clock face that broke when it fell. Doubled and with the lock of hair in the middle it was still only as thick as one piece of my stained glass. I made this owl for Kat's other mother, my beautiful sister Phyllis.

          I have to tell on myself here. I'm right handed and hold the cutter in my right hand. When I'm cutting my glass I often times use the index finger of my left hand to help guide the tip of my cutter as I follow the lines I've drawn.

          When I went to solder the piece together, I was so intent on making my solder lines pretty that I unconsciously put my index finger against the soldering tip. OW! That thing gets hot! It doesn't blister. It's so hot it sears the skin.

          Let's end this with a picture of Wednesday's sunrise.

          And call it done!