I have many things I’m going to try to cover today but also you know how I am. Let’s list them all so I can refer back here once I commence to rambling. The topics include: Forest, my tarot cards, my gravel and redoing an old metal chair.
Forest can’t STAND it that the rest of us go into the backyard and he doesn’t. I found him staring at us from the laundry room window the other night and noted it’s where he goes each time we all go out.
This morning I fed him and changed his litter box and was carrying on with slopping the hogs and whatever other animal care I have in the morning, when I heard his little squeak.
Whenever a kitten mews I get a dreadful vision of them hanging from a light fixture or something, so I ran to the sound of the squeaks, and there he was, in his laundry-room window.
“What IS it, kitten?” I asked him, using my kitten voice. But then I looked out the window and saw. Can you see?
He was singing to his friend Milhous, of the mosquito-repellant Milhouses. As you can see, the acorns are starting to fall all over yonder off my oak tree, which is terrible for walking around on but wonderful for the end of summer in the South, which is the worst thing since winter in Michigan.
Anyway, Forest dearly wanted to be with Mil. Is my point.
While I was up getting pictures of the kitten, I remembered I took this one yesterday. It’s a family portrait. Careful readers will note everyone is in this shot. I mean, not me. But I’m the mother always behind the camera.
Tomorrow Forest’s new mom comes to get him, and I like how I keep saying that his new mom gets him Friday and yet on social media I keep getting, “When is his new owner coming?” FRIDAY. She’s coming FRIDAY.
And is it awful to give him up? Yes. Yes, it is. He fit right in here. Mil loves having someone to play with, as opposed to these elderly cats. Do 9 and 10 count as elderly? Middle-aged cats. I don’t think you really get elderly till 13. Like, if one of my gray cats were to drop dead and I said, “She was 10” or “She was 9,” everyone would be all, “That’s so young.” But if I said, “She was 13” people would go, “Ohhhh. Yeah. Aww.”
Also, in that family portrait above, you’ll notice that pink square on the coffee ottoman that Mil has shredded to bits. Or is it a rectangle? A pink rectangle? I never got to geometry.
Whatever shape it is, and also look right there, it’s the shape of a square (name that movie), those are my
My 1987 boyfriend gave me the set I read all your tarot cards with, and also I’ve said this a million times too but if you have NOT gotten your reading, PLEASE ALERT ME HERE. Not anywhere else. Gets too overwhelming, which is in fact how I lost track of who got readings and who did not. “I forgot to say in my donation but I do want a reading,” someone will say in a comment on some picture I put up on Instagram.
I do know I have one obit to write, too. We have to speak on the phone, obit person!
Anyway, I got my tarot cards in 1987, and have used them ever since, which if you never got to geometry means I’ve used them for 33 years. After using them a million and ten times reading your futures, they felt kind of, I don’t know. Gummed up. So I decided, after 33 years, to get new ones.
Also, the box I keep them in? The first weekend I ever invited Marvin to Seattle to visit, 10 years after he’d been my college boyfriend, he arrived with a long wooden box for holding my tarot cards. He wanted a reading and the whole reading, an hour after he’d arrived in town, was telling me, Yeah, you’re going to marry this dude, so I lied so he wouldn’t think I was a freak.
Also I bought blueberry bagels that weekend, not knowing blueberry bagels are the White Zinfandel of bagels if you are a bagel expert, which is an unoffensive way of saying Jewish. I kept offering him a bagel and he kept being all, “No, thanks” and I couldn’t figure out why till finally I married in and his dad was going on a bagel run and I asked for blueberry and his dad said, “I’m not getting blueberry bagels.”
I have moved on to everything bagels. I have no idea where they fall in the Jewish-people-judging-your-bagel category.
See what I mean about the ramble?
Anyway so I looked a long time. Like, Ned long, for just the right tarot cards. I ended up getting them from Greece, as you do, via Etsy. Behold, my new these-are-so-June tarot cards:
RIGHT?? Oh my god, I love them so bad. And yes, the gold on them is shiny. And they have gold — what do you call that? Borders. They are bordered in gold.
I spent last night just looking at every one, which you’re supposed to do anyway to sort of break them in.
So I’ve decided that since I am no longer using the old-boyfriend 1987 tarot, I also don’t want to use the old-husband 1996 box to hold them. I want it all to be stuff I chose. I still haven’t decided on the container for my cards yet but further reports as developments warrant. You want to see the box Marvin got me in 1996 when he came to Seattle for a visit and the cards predicted we’d marry? I also took him to the Space Needle, where they have carnival games, or they did in 1996. He bought one dart to throw at a balloon and when he threw it I thought, “If he actually hits it I will end up marrying him.”
Pop! He broke the balloon. Won me a stuffed animal. And 14 years of marriage.
OK, hang on.
Here it is. The Marvin box. I first thought I’d use a pretty scarf for storage but I think I want something more sturdy. The point is, I want my cards and my card container to have nothing to do with any man I may have been affiliated with at some point.
Anyway now I have to go. I have 5 intense things to copy edit this week that will take awhile but if I work really hard I can do it during work hours. But then last night they sent me something else, and then I remembered I have 5 hours of something ELSE to do as well and now I have the nausea and sweatiness thing again.
And I swear to god as I wrote that I just got a migraine aura. Just POP! there went an aura. That was sort of amazing. And will make copy editing fun!