Okay, so today hasn’t exactly been “random”, but it hasn’t been that organized. Not really. I had the neighbourhood kids in to play with the kittens, did some housework, mostly dishes, and that’s about it. Oh, and I read a bit.
First off, my reading, which is probably what prompted this post. I was reading CSI: Miami and CSI: New York, finishing off the latter and completely reading the former. One dealt with gangs, the other cults. I’m beginning to see how they can be the same type of group. Having led a rather sheltered life, I haven’t had any “hands-on” experience with either group except peripherally. I used to pick up or drop off fares at the local Clubhouse, and that’s about it. I’m your basic chicken-shit. I didn’t ask, and they didn’t offer.
People who suffer from depression and/or from some form of paranoia would be reasonably good prospects for either, I think. We want to belong, probably more than any other group. Both depression and paranoia can isolate you from “mainstream” life. I can see how someone with either of those tendencies would be fairly easy targets. I guess I’ve been lucky – or my Guardian Angel has been working overtime during the less-than-intelligent times in my life. I’m grateful to him.
So far, my kids have avoided the pitfalls of either a cult or a gang, but they’re young yet. My worrying days aren’t over yet.
As I mentioned earlier, the neighbourhood kids were in to play with the kittens and watch a movie when the rain started. Part of me, the depressed and paranoid part, didn’t want them around. I didn’t want anyone in the house at all. I wanted to have some time to myself, without having to worry about what the kids were up to. Memere and Petra had gone to the library.
Part of me, though, didn’t mind. While I may not have been supervising them the entire time, it made me feel better to know that a reasonably responsible adult was keeping an eye on them. I think the oldest is about eight. There are so many other things that they could have been getting into. We have gangs of children that young in the area. They could have been out doing damage to someone’s person or property. They could have been out getting drunk or getting high. They could have been picking on the cats instead of playing with them. I’m not much fussed on the role of ‘community babysitter’, but this community is a bit different from any other I’ve lived in.
Most of the people here are Native or Métis. They believe that the entire community is just an extended family. That I, as a white person, am being permitted entry into that community, however peripherally, makes me feel… I’m not sure how it makes me feel. Not quite wanted, but tolerated, anyway. Maybe even accepted. I’m a total stranger to the parents of these kids, but kids are pretty smart. They know who they can trust and who they can’t. And a person with a gazillion cats and kittens can’t be all *that* bad, can they?
For the most part, the kids are quite civil and willing to help out if I ask. Once or twice, they’ve even offered to help. We have ‘picnics’ on the front porch or on the front lawn. We provide the frosted glasses and lemonade, and they find things to chew on. We play with the kittens, stroke the cats and generally ‘socialize’.
It’s interesting to watch the kids. Some are shyer than others, some are quite bold. They don’t mind if I explain things to them. They even ask if I know things. Actually, I’m just tolerated, I think. Memere is their favourite, but they’ll play with Petra if she’s the only one home. Petra is the more active of my girls, but Memere has the imagination. They make a good team. When they agree to get along, that is. Otherwise, they’re like two cats in a gunnysack.
When I was a kI used to love watching thunderstorms. Best was if I could watch them from my grandparents’ back porch. It had a tin roof. Failing that, watching them from the window worked just as well. Or from a protected doorway. (I still have an aversion to cold showers.) My mom used to tell me that the noise was the sound of the angels bowling in the clouds and the light was when they got a strike. I didn’t step into a bowling alley until I was about 12, so the tale made perfect sense to me.
When I arrived in Moose Jaw, in the late 80’s, one enterprising young officer enlightened me as to what thunderstorms *really* meant – tornados. I’d been on the fringes of the storm that brought tornados to Barrie, Ont., so I knew, clinically, what sort of havoc they could wreak. I’d never been up close and personal to a tornado. Sitting there in Moose Jaw, with the horizon a distant line and nary a tree, or so it seemed, to break the weather, made me look at thunderstorms differently. After that, I kept watching for the green tinge they told me the sky would take, and the roiling of the clouds. I never did see anything like that, but the fear didn’t leave, either. Not for many years.
This year’s thunderstorms don’t bother me, though. We had a couple today. I sat on the porch and watched the hail come down, smaller than peas, but hail nonetheless. We, the kids and I, watched the lightning and covered our ears at the thunder, but we weren’t afraid. I didn’t figure out why until I started this section of today’s entry. About a block from my front porch is a tall hill, much higher than even the tree out front of the house. It stretches right across my field of vision, even when I look down the street in either direction. That hill is there, protecting me.
When I look out the back porch, I can see the tops of the trees near the river. I know that tornadoes can follow hills and streams, but I’m not really close enough to either to be overly certain I’m in danger. Bit of an ‘ostrich’ attitude? Maybe. Maybe it was just the fact that the kids were around. I’ve always been one to be ‘brave’ when someone else is getting nervous. If I didn’t panic, I wouldn’t have any of the kids panicking. I don’t think I consciously made the decision not to be afrabut there’s something about that hill… I could even make jokes with the kids. They giggled merrily when I suggested that maybe a bar of soap now would save them a bath at bedtime. I’m not sure if I was serious or not, but they found it funny.
Maybe I’m getting used to having the kids around. I don’t know. I was feeling a bit tense, but not nearly as panicky as I’ve been in the past, what with pretty much strangers trouping through my house. I don’t know all the names yet, or I can’t match faces to the names yet.
The other possibility is that I’ve gotten used to having only two pots of coffee a day. At one point in time, I was up to three pots a day and could handle quite a number of things. Cutting back was a bit rough, but when money’s tight….
Either that, or I’ve calmed down enough with the new meds that I don’t need to have as much caffeine. I haven’t had any headaches, or stomach aches, so I’m not drinking “too little” or “too much”. I think I’m actually down to about a pot and a half per day. The decline has been gradual, so it’s a “me” thing and not just finances. I don’t seem to need as much coffee to get through the day as I used to need. I wonder if that means that I’m ‘getting better’?
Memere’s out babysitting and Jessie is staying the night. That used to be a bit of a difficulty for me, the kids having friends over. I’m getting used to Jessie, I think. I don’t feel as odd telling her that she has to help do supper dishes or whatever any more.
Maybe my good mood today is because of Joey. He’s pretty much been cooped up in the house since noon. For a change, he came in *before* the rain started. I feel better knowing that he’s home safe and not “out there” somewhere. He drapes himself across my shoulders, lets me talk baby talk to him, and the best he can manage back is a loud purr and a relaxing heat across the back of my neck. Even when he’s draped half in, half out of his basket underneath the kitchen table, dreaming cat dreams, he makes me feel better. I may only be a can-opener to him, but I feel good about being that. Funny how things like that work out, isn’t it?
