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Not the water sports you’re thinking of…

Marine Biologist’s blog, seadate: 130226:08

When my cat got older, I considered getting another cat to keep her company many times. But I was afraid that if they didn’t like each other and wouldn’t eventually get along,  her last years would be filled with aggravation and possibly fights. I didn’t want to put her thru that.

I also wanted to be her best friend and masseuse since I assumed her muscles were getting sore. I could see it in those last months when her grooming habits decreased more and more. And I was able to spend a lot more time playing with her, being home every night.

So, I decided to refurbish the lizard tank I hadn’t used in at least a decade. I took it from apartment to storage areas. The lizard supplies are now rounded up in a box, I’d hope to get more money selling it as a lot on eBay or the flea market, given transpo and a weekend (off) to do it.

I bought 4 skirted tetras (silver with black stripes) and one of them promptly died. I have 4 gallon jugs that I refill with down to uv filtered from the front of the supermarket. Tap water smells of chlorine. So they get the best water for their 10 gallon tank. Sometimes I buy a gallon of spring water to rotate in for the minerals.

The ornaments I chose were basically lizard things, the same multi-colored gravel, a rock with a hole in it that the lizard crawled thru and the fish swim thru. They even hang out in it once in a while.

At the pet store, they had live plants, so I got a few, one is a “moss ball,” that looks like a ball of styrofoam anchored with fishing string to a fishing weight. It’s covered with some kinda planting soil and the moss has grown out nicely to a huge messed up fro.

This is getting to be a lot, I know, but I bought a pump and lid for the tank with lights. I also have accumulated about 8-10 chemicals and medicines for the water, and of course feeding flakes.

I put them on a milk crate so it would be on a lower level near my cat’s bed so she could watch them, like kitty tv. She didn’t react as enthused as I’d hoped, but I did catch her staring at them once in a while.

After my cat died, I decided to get 4 red platys, the fish I wanted to get while she was alive because they were brighter. Same thing happened, 1 fish passed away within hours of putting them in the tank. I don’t like that.

And eventually, I wanted an algae cleaner and found a mini catfish, an albino bristlenose pleco. It’s cool, it’s thorough on going around the tank suckering residue I can’t see on the glass, plants, rock and arch that I have. I read online that it likes wood, so I cut a piece of the driftwood from the lizard structure and Hoover likes it. While I was cleaning the tank once, Hoover let me PET it. Pictures online show people holding them, they seem to accept and like it! Maybe its skin salt?

It’s a surprisingly cold winter for me, and I’m in California climates, still conditioned to no humidity. So I bought a cheap heater (pad) for the fish, too.

There will be a part 2, I crammed a lot of expo in my one page typing.

Whenever I stare at my fish now, I’m happy and sad at the same time that my cat got to have her fish.

2013/02/26 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dewey Readmore Books, Iowa’s library cat

 

I owned the book Dewey for a few years now & “never got around to read it.” A few weeks ago at the library, I ran into an interesting situation, I saw it there in the audio CD section. Was it cheating to check it out when I owned the book? I checked it out, thinking I could listen to it when I putz around the house,  just like when I listen to pod casts.

 

For some reason, this was a good time to rea- hear the book, when I’m trying to recover from the loss of my cat. I also think had I read the book earlier, before my Bunn Bunn had problems, I may have even had insight on what to do.

 

Dewey Readmore Books

Dewey Readmore Books (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I spent a lot of time online trying to diagnose her symptoms, translating her vet blood work results with online searches of parameters. I think searching any medicine we’re prescribed will turn us all into hypochondriacs. To this day, I get upset thinking that the cat meds worsened her conditions, possibly causing her seizures. I get angry, frustrated and I still feel helpless. I will always think I could have dome something more, but I then always have to think that I did more than anyone that ever knew her would have.

 

There are similar stories I heard about Dewey than I had with my Bunn, but after I was really happy that I had plenty of my own that were different, unique to me. There are plenty of cat books at the library and on Amazon that I’ll be buying in the months ahead, no doubt with similar stories.

 

It’s interesting how people’s stories about their pets are far different than anything Hollywood would lead you to believe. Cats apparently are only there to hiss and warn you not to go into an area. Dogs basically rescue people or are attack a guy if he dates in any rom com. But most pets, you just look at, share cuddles, feed and clean their poop. They sit with you when you get away from the world. They’re also the things we leave behind when we go on vacation, without a lot of thought.

 

There have been some writing books that have helped me out with some issues, for some reason developing schizophrenia is good for character developing arguments. Dewey gave me a couple of insights on writing about my cat. Listening an audio book also gave me insights. Descriptions  and the feelings they give have a lot to do with the voice of the reader. It’s like when you find out a script was written for an actor in mind. It’s tough, but rarely, I can pick out when a character was supposed to be an Eddie Murphy type. He was supposed to be in a couple of star treks and Ghostbusters. It’s easy to tell that Slimer was written for (later a tribute to) Belushi.

 

Slimer

Slimer (Photo credit: Tim.Deering)

 

Part of why I want to be an author is that I want something to last beyond facebook or twitter statuses. To be a writer, I have to consider eventually getting an e-reader, since I’ll have to research publishing for that media. It also scares me. I bought a digital camera before they were in every phone and after 2 generations, the family trusted Kodak brand took a dive. I alone may not have prevented it, but I contributed to it. I used to think it was cute when sci fi movies featured of of those old “book” things, but it’s really happening like so much other dystopic predictions.

 

Vicki Myron did it. She was able to tell millions how much her cat meant to her and what an impact Dewey had on a community that I wasn’t able to relate to before, being a city man. I knew farmers were getting ousted by industry, I may have known the depths. But it was another thing to have it described in detail over a decade while I was bar hopping and playing in my disposable lifestyle.

 

Part of why I want to write is to tribute my cat and those important to me, those that are no longer around but helped me thru so many things. I have been the life of the party in a few circles. I feel so far from that person now, but I’m able to leap back into it, the eye of the festival when I write about what I should have learned from those times.

 

I know, I need to write more. But I also don’t want to wear out my welcome by writing downer blogs also. It’s tougher to write with a 3 beer attitude when you can’t afford it. I do know that’s what people want to read, my crazy Vegas adventures. And I have to sit on a lot of things until a press someday shoots out a book I can hold in my hands and dedicate to the few of you for being there the whole time, and share the memories of my cat Bunn Bunn you don‘t know yet.

 

2012/09/18 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

A life after my best friend died

My blog, posting date 120729.07:

Since my last blog, I’ve written many lists, 2 sided sheets, of my cat. Every time I do something and I have to remind myself she isn’t around, I write it down. It’s important to me.

I know I’m going to need to check out some books about grieving for a loss weds when the library is open again. This is the problem I’m having:

2 years ago I thought I could find a better job to improve my situation for the 4 biggest things in my life: my g/f, my kitty, our apartment & the city I loved. Today I look for any job, including shitty ones- just out of proximity, without any of the 4 biggest things in my life that were motivation. I don’t know how to think for myself.

I love my cat, it’s difficult to wake up and realize she didn’t wake me up for food, that I got 6 hours of sleep uninterrupted. I kept my list of things to do list very light for a week to mourn. I went out one day to just walk around, check out pet stores, look at trees, look for breezes to envelop me. I now notice every animal around me, birds, cats, people walking their dogs.

My fb and twit pages changed a bit. Like my computer’s desktop and screensaver, my cat became most of my avatars. I don’t have the frustration and anger to post my chicken little/ Don Quixote warnings to an uncaring friends list about how institutions are writing policy to keep them richer and us that don’t make $250K/ yr poorer. People don’t give a shit when they’re entertained and kept in a comfort zone of web phones, cable tv and adding to their hobby collection. Wow, frustration just made a little comeback.

I write with my cat looking over me in my mind. She would ask why are things this way? Why can’t I do things in my little world without these outside things hassling me? why don’t people learn with the facts right there? It’s a lot of what I ask myself, only I wonder why other people have their denial blinders on. We can’t do anything, wait for someone else to do something about it. Meanwhile those with suits deep in their protected offices do.

Monday, I’m going to have to leave the condo to go out to look for work again. I understand that I also have new opportunities that I couldn’t do before. My mother may be willing to help me with a bus ticket so I can check out opportunities in other cities, now that I could go someplace, say S.F. or L.A. or anywhere else. I can make a list of things to apply at or have friends that have a couch that needs holding down for a week.

I know I have to move on, but I feel guilty about it or I should at least continue honorably to tribute my Bunn. There are strange things I’m doing around the condo, most cleaning and basically some things I hadn’t done before and I question it. I do chores to keep busy and not dwell. but I question why I didn’t do them before, my cat didn’t keep me from doing these things and yet I feel an ounce of guilt of why didn’t I?

Before I got my cat, I had a lot of condo parties so I wouldn’t feel alone. I can’t go down that path again, mostly because the new neighbors and HOA would take issue even if I could get estranged “friends” to come over. As it was then as it is now, people would come over to trash a house for a party, but they aren’t here for me during hard times like now.

Books give me advice that’s hard to apply, I see it as a major part of the problem. It’s basically “go to what makes you happy, stay away from negativity.” I understand this and have seen it. I understand a bunch of excuses why people don’t want to spend time with me anymore. I’m not at my best.

But what happened to doing the work for friends or loved ones? Don’t leave someone just because they’re in the hospital with a new permanent condition. Show some respect. I’m always told to stay in there and help and I have done that for years, backed people up. Driving out in the cold on my motorcycle, buying tickets to their things when it cost me money when we could hang out for free.

I go thru the toughest shit in my life and everyone’s too busy. And you want me to come around when it’s x-mas so I can watch everyone trade presents when I can’t afford anything? People can’t do the hard work anymore and the bullshit is they say those struggling to get by need to when they are, we are- I AM doing more work already, than when I HAD a job.

So, I’m supposed to go on without, stay away from their negativity. I’m already staying away from mall/ China consumers and politically inactive. I’ve talked about zombie movies before. The world seems to have become this. You put your faith in someone or some institution. Then one day you find out they have someone on the side, or they’ve trapped steer in small holding pens your whole life. Everyone turns one day and I have to pack up my shotguns and wander in to the next town, suspicious of everyone until someone proves them self. Is that what stay away from negativity is? Is that what life is? I go to a lot of community events, as they are signs that people care while everyone else watches tv, internet, their phone- some screen at home.

The one thing I do realize now, for better or worse, I have to move on and I now can expand my horizons out of this condo again. By the time I can save enough to move out, I should be able to make peace with the kitty graveyard of 2 out front. I have Bunn & Fuzz in my heart and mind. they have to live vicariously thru me. It’s like McCoy with Spock’s katra inside him. My cats have affected me for the better and now I carry them inside of me, the last part of them to live.

For a couple of months, when I go out, I don’t just look for a job. Now I look for a place to belong. I look for a crew that laughs and is “good” together. In every movie is the wacky rag, tag crew. But in real life when you go to a business, everyone can’t wait to get the hell out and leave. I’ve had jobs that turn into that. Somewhere people have to want to be together, not with their back in the corner waiting for anyone else to turn zombie.

I don’t have love at home, now. Until I can afford to keep a pair of adopted cats, I have to find a support group that will welcome me, work or otherwise.

2012/07/29 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I lost my poor, poor baby girl

Mourner’s blog, kitty date 120724.09

Sunday morning, my cat who let me share my life with her passed away. She shared her life with me. A lot of this blog is going to be things I cried out to the close people I talked on the phone with the past day or so.

You may think she’s just a cat, but to me she was my companion that accompanied me thru the struggle of moving 8 times, having 6-8 jobs, 4-5 vehicles, a few girlfriends and a couple of states.

It’s safe to say a lot of people have put up with my shit for 17 years, but she always got the better of me. No matter how mad I got for the mess she made, she would respond with rubbing her head on my arm or leg or meow at me saying “pick me up and hug me, please? Pet my back. Scratch the back of my head.” She disarmed me faster than any human could. And that’s a big lesson for me to learn about dealing with others for the rest of my life.

I sensed her time coming, but there were some things. I couldn’t afford the vets and even if I did, did I really want the vets to cut her up and drug her to something that wouldn’t recognize me anymore? I learned a lot from watching my mother and uncle dealing with trying to drag my Grandfather to convalescent homes, where they wouldn’t allow him his cigars and white port. His temper went up and health down. Eventually, they relented and decided to let him sit in his living room, watch tv and drink his “medicine” and smoke his cigars. Go out HIS way.

When I had to move from Vegas to protect my girlfriend from living with the unemployed I eventually lost her to her ongoing life while mine was frozen. No matter how many times I applied, no matter how many books I read on psychology, happiness, motivation, coaching, business, marketing, Zen Buddhism, and war stratagems, I could not get a job to save my life. That first month back to my mother’s condo snapped me into a reality where I didn’t have to remind my girlfriend what needed to be done anymore. I was relieved, but soon saddened by this. I had to learn how to shop at the grocery store by myself, without considering what we’d get.

I still had my baby girl. Whatever odds were against me that was compounded by being “out of state” even though I returned was made worse by month after month of unemployment. When my job search faded from getting Back to Vegas, it continued as I have to get work, to pay off a credit card, to get a vehicle to get me and my cat out of here, if not Vegas.

2 years later, my cat’s health was deteriorating. I knew how long I had her, but I had also heard cats could live to 20-21 and I was going to drive her somewhere with trees and grass she could play in.

In Vegas we developed a tradition of taking her to the drive in movies! We decided to go there for nostalgia and hell 2 movies for $4 each? It was a BONUS when I realized we could put baby kitty in her carrier and smuggle her in. Really, no pets? She could see the family of cats that lived on the roof of concessions that wandered around. We always worried they’d get run over. We always brought string cheese and Cane’s chicken for all the cats to snack on.

One time we even drove her thru x-mas in the park! Vegas is a great place for annual holiday events, but for kitty and my girlfriend, they let me forget about my problems with the holidays and the religions behind them and enjoy the pretty lights. “Look baby!” (There go writer’s tears.)

I have so many memories of my cat, I’ve been scribbling them down the past couple of days and will do so until I’m all wrote out. I always want to remember her how I remember her. 10 years goes by and you forget things and I can’t let that happen. I have to mind dump my memory on a media, a “hard copy” I can have.

I talked with someone recently about digital cameras/ pictures/ computer storage. It’s more convenient than film, but look how less permanent it is. One zap could crash your drive. You could lose your cell with all your pics. In fact it happened to me and the only thing I used my first cell cam for was kitty pics. There were a few I e-mailed to myself that I pulled later. You could post your pics online but I did that for 10 years, who the hell goes to myspace anymore? Who will go to face book 10 years from now? I gamble that word press was around for a long time and could be here until I can at least afford my own domain someday to transfer all this to. Even then, domain companies get bought out. Who knows. It’s why I want to write a book, so copies have a chance of being out there in the world after I’m gone. But the internet is even turning books into vcrs or Kodak film.

I want a physical photo album, physical pictures to post up at work or whatever locker I’ll have some day or god forbid my own office. Instant replaces longevity, another lesson the remote culture needs to learn.

I have more to say and I’m at the end of my page. I’ll write another blog and post it tomorrow, okay? Thank you all for reading this. Losing my baby makes me want to apologize to everyone, appreciate the people I love and thank everyone for the rest of my life.

2012/07/24 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Senior Kittyzen Retirement Home

Owner’s blog, kitty date 66489.51

For the most part, I write a blog with the hope that someday you’ll come across it, share some comment love, follow it. The dream: regular commenter, blog interaction. But this blog is more of a reminder or a notation of some changes occurring. Things won’t be the way they were and this is something I get sad about.

Since I had to move back to condo de backup, whose complex name is literally “Downer,” my cat hos gone thru some noticeable changes.

According to some online vets, my cat is around 81 years old “in cat years.” My best estimate is she was born in 94, I got her after she was weaned from her mother, so 18 years “people time” as of this writing.

When we first moved back, she’d sleep on the foot of my bed by my legs like always. She immediately started pooping on the comforter, leading  to an elaborate hassle of taking it to the large washing machine at the Laundromat. I could wash the other sheets in the condo’s common washer/ dryer. There was stress in moving, and my nerves and depression were escalating as the situation was setting in for me, so that’s how I wrote it off with her.

We settled in and she stopped. There are 2 rooms to the condo and I eventually moved into the other room, rearranging everything because of the new asshole neighbor with a loud a/c hillbilly rigged to his window next to my (old) bedroom window. Also the booming home surround sound for their tv that let me know they weren’t watching PBS or anything above a PG-13 mentality.

Eventually in the new room, she started pooping under the bed and for a bit I’d put boxes and laundry stacks around the bed until I realized I couldn’t do it anymore. I put a flattened cardboard box as a baby gate in my bedroom doorway. I’m now a VIP area asshole. So now, she scratches at it reliably my 3rd hour into my sleep, whatever time.

She eats canned food more because of her older teeth, sore gums. I even sprayed water on her dry food and there’s a small window she’ll eat it. Think how you eat cereal. Not too crunchy to shred the roof of your mouth, too mushy and you don’t want to eat it. Dry food is just a backup she eats at unpredictable times. For the canned food, I feed too much, she won’t finish it. I refrigerate her food after I open it, so she may not like room temperature food anymore? (I’ve gotten to refrigerate unopened cans).

I’ve done good for canned food, in that I’m a big no by-product Nazi. And I know canned cat food no matter how healthy probably is run the same or worse than human food processing, which has scared me to mostly vegetarian diet. I’ll eat meat once a day, or put a small amount of hot link in my spaghetti, jambalaya, etc. If I feed her too less can, she’ll want seconds, scratching that cardboard partition. Getting out of bed at 4:00AM is like pulling yourself out of a swimming pool. Somehow your body weighs 60 more lbs. and leg over the cardboard baby gate.

About a month ago, it looked like her rear legs started getting weaker. I didn’t know if they were sore, numbing or atrophying. I tried to walk her around a large circle with the only cat toy she’ll still perk up to, the red pen laser. She even stumbled on her litter box, so I knew shit was getting real.

And one week, she started writhing around on her back. I thought she was playing but I soon realized she was thrashing around uncontrollably. I held her, tried calming her down. She grabbed my finger with both front paws, I checked to make sure she had feeling and grasp. I held her until she stopped thrashing. Her heart was pumping hard. I don’t know if it was a heart attack, stroke or seizure. She made no kind of yelping or even drooling, I was very worried she didn’t/ couldn’t even call out.

She wasn’t very active for the week after, very understandable. I petted her a lot, but I did more so after that. She likes the side of her head and chin scratched. Her legs seemed to improve. I have bought vitamin treats since, hoping that helps.

I’m pissed at my vet because I’ve taken my cat at least 6 times, blood work costs $200 each time. He prescribed thyroid medicine that’s $30/ month that I still get. But I address my concerns and my cat’s problems every time and my vet won’t commit to saying a damn thing and it pisses me off to go home after to look symptoms on the net after I spent grocery money for him to not say anything useful or not to “take care of” my cat. He just wants blood work money. So I’m recognizing some struggles we had with my Grandfather when dealing with his doctors and him taking his medicine. I’ve gotten to a good grove in smashing her kitty meds into a tablespoon of milk.

This is my cat’s retirement and I love her more than anything. I know I could load a backpack and look for work in San Francisco or L.A. without her. But I’m committed to her for life. She’s the love of my life, even more than myself. I’ve been treating my body like the Millennium Falcon, a vehicle. I’m working on that. And when I was at my most depressed, I couldn’t continue thinking suicidal thoughts partially because I knew no one else could or would take care of my cat in her final years like I could.  know she’s a selfish cat. I know dogs have more “service to humans” capacity. Her biggest selling point was pooping and peeing in one place and her seizure has affected her habits, she doesn’t care as much anymore. Her hair’s matted from lack of grooming she used to be obsessive about.

but still, I owe my life to her, so my priority is to maintain hers. She’s still my baby girl, and will always be.

2012/06/27 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

My cat, Fuzzy

Owner’s blog, cat date 66292.29

I have a list of things to complain about. But I’m tired of all that. they’ll always be there. I read all kinds of things about how to deal with anger, frustration. I think of reams of rants, but when I look at my blank, white screen I fight to keep my nemeses at bay to limit their voices- their power- in MY journal. I never want to be an enabling sheep. I point things out. I already just deleted 3 paragraphs that derail me from what I want this chapter to be about. The shepherd has to prevail.

There are lots of isolated characters I’ve read and seen on film & tv, from the wise man, to the deserted man to mad scientist, to the guy in his evil lair. what a lot of them have in common is a pet they contemplate life plans with when there is no one else.

Let me start off with, yes I have owned dogs when I was young. Not much fun with the barking and the crap mine detail around the house. I was a dog person when I had them. Now I’m a cat person. Poop and pee in one convenient box! I know plenty of the dog and cat debates. I have owned pets in tanks, from fish to hermit crabs top lizards. I’ve owned caged pets, including a parakeet whose shrieks went right to my nervous system. I preferred the cooing of a finch I had. All of those pets have come and gone, but my cat remains. I’ve been pondering that “___ come and go, but ___ remains” quote a lot, trying to absorb and appreciate those second blanks.

I got fuzzy and his sister when I worked rides at a theme park, from a girlfriend’s parents house. They came from a littler of 4, the mother had over 5 different colors and patterns of fur, her name was Muffin. My g/f at the time named the small “runt” of the litter Bunny for some reason. We also got one of her brothers that I got to name, Fuzzy which made more sense to me and the name still went with Bunny’s. The other 2 were blonde boy kitties that remained at her parents court, outdoor cats. We took them as soon as they were weaned from their mother. I hope, looking back… Fuzz was black and grey stripes, Bunny was a mix of colors, greys, black, white and tan, just like her mother. I never saw the father.

We used to take them to the park in a basket, everything they did was precious. They scampered around the house when they were little, I used to enjoy hearing their little stampede around the condo, of course when I was quiet working on something else. You could hold one in your hand like a softball. We took them to the vets regularly for checkups and shots. The county offered a free voucher per pet and early on, we got them both spade and neutered. I remember that it took Bunn longer to recover, with her poor little radar dish.

I have blogged elsewhere about her brother and it’s in a file I can’t find, the blog entry lost in some server that GeoCities or MySpace was absorbed into something else.

It happened after I took a trip to Vegas, when I decided I needed to go look for work there. When I came back, I let the cats out in the front yard as I had done. The stupidest thing I did was let them out for progressively longer periods of time, trusting they would stay out of trouble and come back in on their own. Top 5 You Fucking Idiot time of my life award.

“SCREECH.” I went out front and a car was stopped. Bunn was inside. Her brother wasn’t. I ran out and thank the driver that he stopped to get out and consider what he had hit. He was even very apologetic. I told him to stay there, I was already running in the house for the kitty carrier.

I had a car at the time, so after carefully placing my wailing boy in the kitty carrier, I drove him to the vets. I remember guttural growling as I cried and drove with my right hand nuzzling his head in the passenger seat as I drove us, shaking and struggling to say comforting things towards the vets.

Our vet was in fact someone I worked with at the theme park, it was his “weekend” side job for fun. We worked on the park’s railroad together. He was there and the one I could count on to work on my cat as if it were his own. I cried and even called my mother, as I had before in an emergency.

A couple of hours into it, I had to accept some things, drowning in tears. No, I just wanted him to live. I’ve seen people take care of cats without all their legs. What was important to me was that I keep his spirit alive, let me love him longer.

The vet told me that he couldn’t realistically keep Fuzzy alive, his mind wouldn’t be fully there if he could. I really didn’t give a shit about what money I had to “borrow” to keep him alive. When I realized he most likely wouldn’t be in his state of mind again, I had to accept things and drive him home in his kitty carrier until he went to sleep for the last time.

I kept my hand on him as I lay, he smelled like blood. I told him how much we loved him over and over and happy memories we shared. I’m happy I took pics of them playing.

Bunn was confused, she would wander around. After he passed away, I just left him in the carrier until I figured out what to do the next day. I kept good thoughts and smiled thru tears. It wasn’t a time to debate God, it was a time to celebrate my boy fuzzy and if there was a spirit rising from him I had to let him see we loved him and how he enriched mine and Bunn’s lives. She approached him, smelled that he was… different and walked away. I cried for the 3 of us all night & the next morning, pretty useless for me to try to lie in bed.

I would up buying him in the front yard among some rose plants that line the front of the condo I’m staying in again, now a decade later. When we came back, I’d sit out front and let Bunn play for a while until she started eating the grass. I saw in a documentary about yard maintenance and all the chemicals they put into lawn care. It made her sicker than I thought all those years.

I meant to write about Bunn, but this needed to be shared again. I’ll write about happy times with her within a few weeks.

2012/04/16 Posted by | History 101 | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment