What Do Writers Do When...

What do writers do when they're not writing? They get creative in other ways.

From what I've seen and read from others, we pretty much head in the same direction. Crafts. Knit, crochet, x-stitching, embroidery, scrapbooking, quilting. Oh, and there's photography and sketching. Have I left anything out? Probably. But as a footnote, some activities are more perilous than others.

A case in point.

I don't scrapbook, photograph or sketch anything. I have no talents in that direction but I'm pretty good at the rest of the list. Last Fall, I promised my son a quilt for a wedding gift. (Hopefully, it will be ready for their first anniversary.) His wife loves pink so I had to find something that would be a pleasing compromise. Not to masculine or feminine. No problem there. The original design I had in mind proved to be too boring when I started planning it out so I came up with something better. That meant getting more fabric to compliment what I already had picked out.

That meant trouble.

In mythology, Sirens called to sailors, their song irresistible. The sailors ended up on the rocks, their ship destroyed. Death was their only escape. Ulysses is the only character of myth to listen to the Sirens and live to tell about it. Then again, his men tied him to the mast so he couldn't jump overboard, and with their ears stopped up they couldn't hear his shouted orders to free him.

It's the prefect analogy and a good explanation why I try to avoid fabric shopping. Those stores are like the rocky shores and the Sirens are all the quilting fabric inside. Listening to those mythological, "angelic" voices is just begging for trouble.

And I was begging.

My sister must have been in collusion with said Sirens. In my innocence (ha ha ha) I'd asked her to come along and give me her opinion, but she kept drawing my attention to prints she knew I couldn't resist. A couple of them barely whispered and I knew they weren't right. They were easily ignored. Then there were the more...'experienced, more powerful voices.' The colors weren't so much 'vibrant' as they were pleasing to the eye and they were talking to me. She and 'they' made for great harmony. The kind of harmony you can't resist no matter how hard you try.  I suppose I didn't try too hard.

I fled from the rocks with seven different prints (not just the two I originally wanted) and my credit card still intact but with a discernible dent in it. I'm not sorry since, like Ulysses, I listened to their song and lived to tell about it.

As to my sister... Well, the Sirens aren't known for their loyalties. She'd been caught as well. In spite of her determination not to succumb to their vocal entreaties (she had no intention of purchasing any-thing) she left with several patterns.

The lesson for the day?  Never trust Sirens. They always catch you.

Bwahahahahahah

A Little Piece of My Heart

This month practically all news stories have to do with the Winter Olympics. I'm not a big sports fan, but like most folks, I watch the medals count. We've been doing pretty well staying in the top three. But there is one special story that's hit home with most everyone. Puppy adoptions. American Olympian Gus Kenworthy became particularly newsworthy when he decided to adopt four stray pups and their mother. And now it appears that other teams are even helping US Olympians to adopt other strays and find a way to bring them home. Reading about Gus and the pups brought back memories of my own.

Some years ago, I had the gratifying experience of "adopting" a stray cat who eventually became known as CharlieBaby. Charlie was sneaky from the get-go. He used to come around with a couple other cats and one of the tenants would feed them. When that person moved out, Charlie was left behind. Being a cat person myself, I felt a little sorry for him and would put out a bit of food. Eventually he found his way up to the second floor where I lived and established himself in my residence. I guess he decided at that time I was worthy of adoption.

For the first year, I had to let him out every day and watching him dart across the street during noontime traffic was unnerving. I expected him, at some point, to end up splattered. As soon as I could afford it, he was neutered and became housebound. He didn't seem to mind. He had plenty to eat and didn't have to share. There were patches of sunshine to follow around during the day where he could sleep undisturbed and there was a warm bed to sleep in at night. He didn't like sleeping under the bedcovers as most cats preferred. Charlie would crawl to the foot of the bed, turn around and come back to the top, so just his head was out from under the blanket and he'd share a pillow. At least until the next morning when I'd find he had it all and I had none.

Charlie had his little quirks. A couple times he decided to make a bed of the quilt I was working on and fell through. The PVC frame wasn't meant to hold up a sixteen pound cat. I always knew when he was upset with me. He'd pull up any seedlings I had growing. They'd only be a couple inches tall but he had a way of pulling them out of the potting soil without damaging them. I'd find the little plants lying on top of the soil or on the table which always prompted me to ask, "Why are you upset with me this time?" Of course, he never said.

He was finicky when it came to moist cat food, but liked the dry. He also liked freshly roasted chicken or turkey, toast crumbs, bits of sliced cheese, saltine or ritz crackers, or cheese-its. Crackers had to be broken into small bits otherwise he couldn't eat them. Once in a great while a tablespoon of plain ice cream was a treat.

Charlie became the inspiration from which I created Houdini, better known as Dinks. (After all, Charlie was able to do a couple things that, for the life of me, I could never figure out how.) He was the black cat in Highland Eyes, with magical abilities and a mind of his own, moreso than Charlie. He was great. How could I do less with a cat like Charlie to inspire me?

Charlie's been gone about ten years now. Doesn't seem that long. Every now and again I go back and look at those memories and realize after all this time, I still miss him. He was the greatest, the best(and the smartest) companion of all the cats I've had as pets.

Going back to Gus and his pups, I certainly hope he gets them back to Colorado and they all do well in their new home(s). Kudos to the other Olympians who follow his example.