Memory ©arlene s bice
A particular memory may
cut deep into our psyche
create a day of sadness
loss of love so desired
or bring happiness
just remembering
your choice.
Lizzie with my notebooks. Reading?
Writer. Educator. Artist.
Memory ©arlene s bice
A particular memory may
cut deep into our psyche
create a day of sadness
loss of love so desired
or bring happiness
just remembering
your choice.
Lizzie with my notebooks. Reading?
Paula sent the picture
The Captain on the deck
He’s made himself
At home again
Taking it easy
Making it his own
Loving his new life.
And I am happy to see it. Thank you Paula.
Well, I’m in. The move I thought was well planned, especially for a non-planner, was not easy. I had arranged for the wifi guy to be at my new apartment for the afternoon when I would be unpacking. Hah! The movers didn’t come until after 10 a.m.! I expected to be pulling out of town by then. They were quick and strong and easily picked up the heavy boxes of books. Since I had to leave before 11 to be in Farmville by 12, I left instructions on what to take and what to leave for the new owners. He had already taken what I gave to him for his store. I planned to return the next day to empty the refrigerator and freezer. The cleaning team was scheduled for Saturday.
The movers did a fine job of bringing my stuff in and placing it where I directed. It was hot and they had to bring my stuff down a full flight of exterior stairs. They were good and finished by 4:30. At 5 pm I panicked! The wifi guy had not come! I called immediately but 5:03 was too late! I missed the call from him while I waited in the empty apartment! Oh, no! Darn. Darn. Darn it!
The next day I scrambled. At the wifi office I pleaded. I knew it was my fault. The lady had squeezed me in a busy schedule (university kids returning and all needed wifi) and I goofed. No go until Monday. I would be waiting for him on Monday. . . closing day.
I didn’t get back to the house until Saturday. As I pulled into the carport the Captain ran up to meet me like he always did! He was thinner! What was he doing here! How did he get here! He was supposed to be 20 miles away, enjoying his new home, the forest and his new mistress! He was all over me, into the car and out again, ran ahead of me, ran through the house when I opened the door, like he did every morning when I fed him. He ran around outside the house and up on the front porch peeking in the storm door like he always did. He was replaying our daily life.
I couldn’t fuss, too much to do. Upset or not, I had work to do.
Then I spotted the dining room full of stuff that should have been moved. I told the movers all the furniture stayed in this room but there was a lot of other stuff that they overlooked! Mis-understanding. I tried to get it all into my car but my car is a small one. I was running high on being upset. Frustrated. The cleaners came and got busy doing their job. I emptied the freezer, no room for the refrigerator stuff. I explained to the cleaner who does not speak English, to empty the refrigerator and take the contents for herself if she wanted it, but leave the bottle of bubbly wine for the new owners. She nodded her head, yes, yes. I paid her fee and left extremely upset over the Captain and over things I couldn’t take with me. My friend communicated with him and he understood all that was happening. He said he loved it there, had been happy and was staying even if I couldn’t be there. He said he would be alright.
I cried the entire hour 10 minutes driving to my new home worrying about the Captain.
Emily Eve Weinstein https://emilyeveweinstein.com/home
Back when my new, used and rare book shop was in full swing in Bordentown (NJ) many authors and artists came to introduce their books and work. Emily Eve Weinstein, on her way from Durham (NC) where she taught, to visit her parents in NYC would stop and spend the night at Exit 7 on the NJ Turnpike. She ventured into town and drew many fans from the area excited to see her newest book. Emily always gave some kind of art presentation. The year of the Cat Book, she showed how to do a ‘reverse painting’ by painting on glass then placing art paper on the wet painting and voila`. An original painting resulted. This painting that she did of my cat Lizzie (named for Elizabeth Bennet of Pride & Prejudice) was the result of her visit that year. She captured Lizzie’s expression perfectly! I purchased prints of each picture in the book for resale, but she gifted the one of Lizzie and I kept it these 20+ years for my own pleasure.
Cat Book started out simply enough. Emily Weinstein set out to create a series of monoprints of cats she knew personally. As she explored her subjects, she saw that each cat had a story. So she wrote the stories down, and began hearing of fascinating cats farther afield. The trail led from North Carolina up the East Coast to New York City, where she was able to paint the much-heralded Brooklyn heroine cat, Scarlett, who rescued her five kittens from a ravaging fire. Other cats depicted include Snappy, who has sailed around the world; Wild Boy, feral in the High Sierras; the talking feline Regis, and Max, who has learned to box. It’s all great fun….and wonderful art!
From her website: Emily Eve Weinstein is a muralist, portraitist, and teaching artist, While creating murals in various towns over the years, Emily realized that many of the youth were drifting about and getting into trouble. In response to this, Emily would hand them a brush and send them up the scaffolding to help. Recognizing their value to the community, Emily taught the youth important skills which enhanced their self-esteem. As a result of encompassing the youth into her work, Emily’s murals soon began to foster a new and intrinsic community value.
Her murals may be seen in Durham and Carrboro (NC) and Long Island (NY)
Arlene S. Bice
Moving into my new home requires a good smudging even though the house bursts with the best spirit ever. I start at my front door, give thanks to the four directions as I turn to face each one. The spirit above and the spirit below are added to those thanks for my blessings. Especially for being right here where I am meant to be for my best living right now.
As soon as I step inside (I don’t even look to see if the neighbors are watching. Perhaps I’m unknowingly teaching them something.) I light the sage sitting in my large conch shell, with a wooden match. It’s important to use a wooden match. As the smoke rises, I wave it outward with the eagle feather that I found in the forest one day. Walking clock-wise, I go from room to room, chasing negative spirits away, if there are any around, and inviting good spirits to come join me, watch over me (and cat Lizzie) to share in my joy of being here. Lizzie follows in my footsteps. She’s done this before, too.
There. Done. The house carries the aroma of burnt sage, a cleansing odor that comforts.
When I was still living in Bordentown, a lady stopped in my bookshop to ask a question. She wanted to buy a particular house in town and wanted to know if it was haunted. I didn’t know of any haunts hanging around the house, yet encouraged her to smudge, anyway. She was new to the concept. . . . I like spreading the word that helps others.
Lizzie snoozing after a good read
Now that Mz Lizzie and I are moved into our new home, settling in, I’ve returned to the joy of watching her. She is so happy to be back in a home with just her and me, full of peace and good spirits in the house. Soft sounds of music float in the air while I sit on the rug and brush her. She purrs with love and contentment, reaching out her paw to touch my hand in gratefulness.
I tossed a familiar, thick towel of hers, onto the floor of the closet in her own bedroom on the first morning that we arrived here. That’s been her ‘go to’ place to hide out when she wants to.
We quickly found a convenient out-of-the-way spot for her water and food bowls. When they empty, she’ll come to me, sweetly asking in her best ‘meow’ words to come fill ‘er up. She gives her ‘thank you’ with a soft nuzzle at my ankle.
She’s taken to walking under and around a dining room chair and turning around and doing it again. It’s an “I’m doing this because I can.” thing. She sprawls out in the middle of the floor of each room, because she can. No dog and no one to tell her no or move or looks at her negatively. It is all her domain that she shares with me, gladly. I never tell her no, well, almost never. That one more bowl of dried food that she wants, but is not good for her anti-diabetic diet that I refuse her. She also loves to spread out in each doorway connecting rooms. That is something new for her to do in this lovely cottage of ours.
Cats are so tuned in to us real, live people as well as spirits who have stayed behind or drop in for a visit now and then. While going over my notes for my upcoming memoir, I came across a notation about an interview done in Bordentown a few years ago. Lora was telling me about the three cats that lived in her apartment at the time; her cat, her daughter’s Maine Coon cat, Draven von Lichtenstein, and a shadow cat. The shadow cat came with the apartment. He was just a shadow that ran from one room to another, leaped up onto the kitchen table, or jumped down from the sunny windowsill with a loud “b-r-r-p” just like the ‘live’ cats did.
As I sat at the kitchen table to record Lora’s story, I lay my folder in front of me. Lora’s cat leapt up, snuggled onto that folder and looked up at me, as if to say, “Get this all down right. I’m here to be sure you don’t miss a thing.” And that is where the cat stayed, throughout the entire interview, never moving, eyes watching me, interested in all that was said.” Cats are amazing!
From Living with Ghosts
I gave up a chance to paint with friends one day last month because I knew I’d been postponing writing the next chapter in a memoir, written strictly for healing purposes. The Past kept burning me to get out of the place I had buried it so many years ago. Like the characters in my Major Fraser book that would not let me sleep at night until I told their story.
So I gave up the beautiful day for painting and stayed inside, on my PC, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote; only taking time out for nibbles and water from the kitchen. These trips to the kitchen help keep my lower back from protesting the hours at the PC. Lizzie came after me, pawing at my elbow at 3 o’clock. She wanted me to join her in our loosely scheduled reading time.
“Not today, Lizzie” I told her. “My muse is hot and my fingers nimble. I’m cranking.” She looked properly disappointed but understood. She’s a witness to me on a writing hailstorm.
It’s a half hour before midnight and I’ve completed the chapter. I’ve wept, dried the tears, and kept writing. I feel great now. A good cleansing made me feel lighter. The memoir is near completion and I’d like to get back to some kind of normal life, for a while anyway. Maybe do some planting if the season has not passed me by . . . cut the grass… clean the house… all waiting for me while my memories were unloading onto the paper.