I think cats are trying to take over the world. They are making headway, mostly in places where they are not viewed as food.  I personally know of several bands of feral cats in my own hometown. My haircut lady is a champion of feral cats, a cat rescuer. Every time I go for a cut we talk about how many cats she was able to bring to the spay/neuter clinic that month. However, there is another place where cat rescuing is in higher gear than here and that is Jacksonville, Florida. 

This haven for feral cats is where Julia Dietz, D.V.M., one of my daughters, has chosen to live. As she was searching for a home there, her first mention of the place she now lives went kind of like this. “It’s at the end of a mile long, unpaved drive and is flanked on two sides by a nature preserve. The landlord lives next door and she has a cat rescue operation. She feeds about 70 cats at her back door each evening. They live in the woods.” “You won’t be living there”, I thought to myself. Wrong.

Last week as we were helping her move in I snapped a few pictures of cats as they sat about, ran in and out of the house, and lurked in the shrubbery. We have since found out that there probably aren’t as many as 70 cats, all but one have been fixed, and that the landlord is indeed serious about the problem of feral cats and is politically active and persuing legislation that will benefit the poor creatures.  She feeds them on a picnic table in Julie’s yard. Her name is Jennifer but I like to call her “cat lady” because it sounds crazy fun and a little demented (like Spider Man or Ninja Turtle…). And to add to the craziness we have also met a family a few miles away – the wife also feeds a whole bunch of feral cats.  I think it’s a favorite pastime of Jacksonville animal lovers.  Maybe it is wise to make friends with cats… before the takeover.



although they look right at home, neither of them are Julie’s




spooky cat, one of many




the daily cat picnic




nearly invisible yellowcat jumping in bushes



There have been many times when my spiritual parent has demonstrated his point to me by giving me something in the physical realm that is similar to what’s going on spiritually. In the spiritual, he is my parent and I am the child with whom he wants to have a relationship. In the physical, I am a parent with children with whom I want to have a good relationship. What do I want from them? Frequent, meaningful, honest communication. The opportunity to know their needs and respond in love. To bond with them through sharing the highs and the lows of life. I want to know them and I want them to know me. Anything less involves some degree of emotional pain.

Is this a mirror of what my spiritual parent wants from me? Probably so. And seeing it that way gives me a better idea of how to be a happy spiritual child. I say “happy”  instead of “good” because it is not about being good in order to please someone. 

All those things I want from my children are not in order to burden them with obligations that they will feel guilty about if they don’t comply.  I want to know their honest feelings because they will be healthier and wiser about themselves if they express them.  I want to know their needs in case I am able to fill the need. I want to bond with them so they won’t ever feel alone or unknown. I want them to know me so they will realize how much they are like me, how often I have felt what they feel (and survived) and how much I love them. I want these things from them (and for them) so they will be happy, not good. 

It is so very interesting that for the last two weeks I have been unable to post anything on this blog. The technical problem seems to be gone at the moment but I suppose it could reoccur at any moment – it did once before.  I’m amazed at how it left me not knowing how to get rid of all the things I wanted to say.  I’m no longer inclined to write long hand in a journal, although I suppose I would get used to it again if I had to.  When writing online there is that sense that I am sharing words with a community even though I rarely hear from anyone. I think that increases the cathartic effect.

The week spent in Wisconsin was very worthwhile (and fun) but I’ve almost forgotten what I wanted to write about it. One significant happening was that our family decided to split the costs of one of my brother’s condos, right next to my parents.  It will be available for any of us who want to visit without having to impose on the parents, and for those of us who need more room when we visit for a longer period of time. The husband was with me on this trip and I think we both came away with the feeling that we would like to be up there more often.  We just have to figure out how to extricate ourselves from the workplace without losing our jobs. Might be a problem, but then again…. 

I spent a few days in Gainesville before leaving for Wisconsin. Since getting back, most of the days that I haven’t had to work I’ve been helping the Florida daughter move from Gainesville to Jacksonville. Moving is messy business and no one should have to do it alone. The more help, the better.  Of course Julie worked harder and longer than anyone else but I was glad I got to contribute.  I now have memorized directions to her new house and have a mental picture of her living space (as well as digital pictures).  There is a lot to be said about the place.  Her horses and mine also have new stomping grounds and a nice gentleman cowboy to watch over them as they enjoy his 70 acres of pasture.  Julie has had a couple days of work since moving – a relief for her I’m sure.

And now, perhaps this post is long enough and I should see if I can post a picture without losing the ability to write text.  This is a picture of our first pizza meal at Julie’s new house after a hard day of hauling boxes and furniture. 

fiercely attacking food

Old barns symbolize a vanishing way of life and Wisconsin is full of them.  I see them often and if I’m driving I sometimes give in to a “sudden leaving of the road” impulse and try to get some pictures.  I grew up on a farm with a beautiful old barn and spent many hours playing and working in the hay loft, whitewashing the walls on the ground floor, sweeping the center aisle, cleaning out the watering cups and the gutters and milking the cows stanchioned in rows along the barn’s length.  Those of us with memories like these are becoming fewer in number and soon the barns will be gone too.  The one I grew up loving started leaning back in the 70’s and finally blew over in a storm in the 80’s. 

My grandfather’s farm, which is now owned by my brother, has a barn which is still standing – probably because my grandfather was forever scaring his wife by going up to put tin on the roof.  The tin kept the wood from getting wet and rotting, and the basic structure of the barn is pretty solid.  It has beautifully weathered wood full of color and texture and the old pieces of tin make the roof look like a patchwork quilt.  It is one of our favorite backdrops for photos.  A number of them are framed in an old window that is hanging on my wall and was a subject of a previous blog post (See “Tribute to a Barn” 11/6/2012).  These are some new shots that I took this year.



initial view from the road




especially love the doors and hinges



unusual lines even before it started leaning





if walls could talk, the stories these would tell…









rustic beauty, daisies and old wood







a barn you don’t want to spend much time in






a roof that could have used some tin…



Dad, waiting for me to quit trespassing



Why do we like adventure? What is it about something just a tad dangerous that makes it so appealing? I have my theories.  There are numerous things I have no longing to do – skydiving being one of them, just for instance.  There are many other things that are slightly out of the box that I love to do.  They are very tame, actually, and sometimes I hesitate to call them adventures because I’m afraid real adventure seekers will laugh.  But children who are just starting out are almost always impressed with my adventures and that is where this particular adventure began.

I call it the Peninsula walk/swim tradition for obvious reasons. We take a walk along a road to the tip of a peninsula, then we walk a narrow sand bar toward the opposite shore and when we get to a boat channel where the water is deeper we swim to a boat landing.  The whole trip takes in a circle of about three miles, I’m guessing.   The original walk/swim was an adventure planned for my neices and nephews years ago and it’s been repeated almost every year since because it is a good way to keep in touch with an area of Wisconsin that I have always loved.  Sometimes it’s just one or two of us there on vacation and other times more join in.

The only reason it’s an adventure is that not too many people think of doing it.  Sometimes it’s more adventurous because the water is extremely cold or the weather is bad.  The walking part is never too big a deal but when we reach the end of the road and take the path down through the gnarled and weather beaten trees on the tip of the peninsula it gets interesting.  We stop to take off our shoes, socks and any other clothing that we don’t want to wear wet.  Watches, cell phones, money – all have to go in a water tight zip lock bag along with the clothing.  Then we wade out.  The depth of the water varies and there are places with rocks that are slippery and potentially hurtful.  As we get near the boat channel the water gets darker and deeper (slight adrenalin rush) until we have to swim, holding our bags aloft with one hand.  Twenty five feet later we can suddenly touch bottom again and the adventure is all but over. 

This process has been perfected over the years. The first year with the children it actually was a little scary (and I had to carry most of the shoes and clothing).  Now we are old hands at it, although often there is a newbie with us who doesn’t quite know what to expect.  This year participants were me, my nephew Evan, my brothers Bob and Gary and my daughter Esther (her husband came along to observe but was on the verge of a sore throat. He viewed the route by car). It was great fun and makes me happy just remembering it. Here are some photographs which I had taken as proof.



The men of the trip




What I have to do to get in a picture.




Fashionable walk/swim attire




My bros leading the way




Just across the channel after the swim



The real adventure is swimming with one of these bags in your hand, just sayin’…



Mysterious masked swimmer (Evan) about to intrude



I’m just sayin’ there’s nothing like a good vacation to tire a body out.  When else in one week’s time does a person fly thousands of miles in a plane, drive hundreds of miles to three different cities, canoe for hours on a wild river, walk several miles of country road, swim a boat channel, ride through the forest on a motorcycle, participate in an afternoon photo shoot, complete a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle, catch up on the news of over 30 friends and relatives, and eat every four hours (daylight only) to the point of pain. I’m sure I missed something. I’m tired in my brain and can’t remember all the good memories at once.  That’s why I have 660 pictures (groan) to review and record. 

The best of the best will be posted and written about maybe tomorrow when I get back from work.  I’m scheduled for work at 6 am.  Do you know that for the past week it has been light outside in Wisconsin before 5 am?!!  And it’s not dark until nearly 10 pm, making it possible to do all the above things but a bit tricky to get sleep.  But now my bags are unpacked, my cats who survived my absence are fed, and I’m going to bed.  I can’t wait to write about my amazing family and our time together! Okay, one crazy picture just to get started – me and my bro going out for a spin.

Every once in a while I get the overwhelming desire to make a big change. Today I would just like to do away with all the routines in my life and start over with new ones. I would like to go live where no one knows me. All the people I would meet would be new to me and I would spend time getting to know them because I would have no job to go to.  And then later I would find work to do that was different from work I have done.  I would not have to get up early in the dark.  I would not have to work at night when I’m tired.  I would play with children and read books.  I would wear strange clothes. And hats.  I would go fishing and look for loons on the lake.  I would sit in the garden every day with a cat.  I would keep my kitchen floor clean and smooth.  I would write old-fashioned letters to my old friends. Yes, those are the things I would do. Just sayin’…

James Herriot has already captured the market for tales of a farm country vet, but I am seriously considering beginning “tales of a farm country vet’s mother” – slightly different twist, eh? I’m sitting at the corner table, looking out the window at a pouring rain and thinking about all that’s going on in the life of my veterinarian daughter. She is preparing to move to a new town to start practicing what she’s been learning for the past four years. 

I could write about the move, because I’ve been at her house packing boxes for a couple of weekends already, but no, I’ll wait until we know where she’s going to put all these boxes. There is no house yet.  I could write about a couple of client visits she’s made already. These early experiences are always story material because she goes not knowing what she’s going to find or if she has the supplies she needs. But that can come later. Today I’ll write about the minor surgery that has just taken place down in the barn.

Two weeks ago her appendix mare Fea turned up with a rather large hole in her neck. Things happen to horses, usually when no one is looking which leaves one wondering what the full story is.  Since this didn’t appear to be a bite, Julie examined the hole and thought it was pretty deep. The question was, if something went in that deep, did it then come out in one piece? Hard to tell.  It is now two weeks after the incident and there is quite a bit of swelling and the remaining concern about a possible foreign body somewhere in there. 

I thank God the girl is a veterinarian, and has faculty friends from her recent schooling who are willing to give her a hand (and bring out special equipment to aid in the treatment). Dr. M. arrived, the horse was tranquilized and the two of them proceeded to ultrasound and probe for whatever might be there, or at least to create a way for the area to drain itself of infection.  I got to hold the horse. Well, really I could only hold the horse’s head steady.  Normally it is a job to hold a horse when it’s being treated in painful ways, that is unless it is tranquilized. Then it becomes a job because the horse is acting like it’s going to fall down and gradually leans on the holding person more and more.  Horses are big and heavy and if they decide to fall you are not going to hold them up. Fea didn’t fall. I’m just saying this so you will know what my part of the surgery was.

I wish the “surgery” had produced a clear benefit but midway through it became apparent that both doctors were having their doubts and were wishing they had x-ray eyes.  At one point there was a long forceps stuck down the original wound, another forceps stuck in a new drainage hole below the wound and a long plastic pipette that kept disappearing farther and farther into the wound to who knows where. Trying to get the two holes to connect so a drain could be inserted just wasn’t working. And it never did work, but Julie now has one very sore horse who definitely doesn’t want to move around much. And Fea will need some attention for a while now.  Fortunately, Dr. M. volunteered to keep Fea at her barn if she’s not better by Tuesday when Julie leaves for the family reunion in Wisconsin.  The timing isn’t good. What can I say?


Keep in mind that when photographed from the front a horse’s head always looks huge compared to the rest of the body. Here is a sad horse with multiple holes in her neck.