This is how we found Winston sleeping yesterday-- face smashed against the couch, legs in the air, belly-up.
As I have evidenced before, he sleeps in these positions on a regular basis.
He just might be the weirdest cat ever.
Dear to the heart of the pretty.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Wednesday Winston: I spy with my little eye...
A small, white paw.
It's Winsty! Sleeping with his legs in the air.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Friday, August 19, 2011
B-A-R-T-O-N
You gain a lot of things when you get married.
A new sense of purpose. Growing responsibility. A greater appreciation for your spouse. A few extra pounds and, most importantly, a new family.
Before I was married, the idea of in-laws always daunted me. How could one reconcile oneself to people with which there is no history? What if your backgrounds are too different, and you become the person in the family that everyone rolls their eyes at or ignores? The crazy aunt. The weird sister-in-law, perpetually out of place, creeping into corners and scaring all the children at family parties. My fears, of course, were completely unwarranted. Every single one of my siblings have married incredible men and women-- people that, though I have no direct relation, I feel I could be bound to by blood-ties.
When I met Jason's parents for the first time I was deeply impressed by their kindness. I saw their newborn grandson in the hospital at the same time I met Jason's sister in-law, Michelle. I was touched by this willingness to include me, a complete stranger, in something that was so exciting and precious. I watched Rod tease Jason and was, in turn, teased myself. I lost a MarioKart race to a four year-old. I wiped snot from the noses of nieces and nephews. I held Tarrin's beautiful baby. This was something that I quickly learned about the Bartons--once you're in, you're all in. I loved this most about Jason. This is what shaped him into the person I had grown to adore. I saw his face reflected sometimes in the faces of his siblings-- a passing shadow across the eyes, a facial expression, a laugh. I saw how at home he was with his family and knew that this was important. If I wanted to be a part of his life I had to know more.
I went to Oregon with the whole family for a week the summer before Jason and I became engaged. How different the Bartons were from my own family! And how good it was to be different. My family revolves around food and loud, interrupted conversations. The Bartons revolve around activity-- there is always an agenda, a new sight to see, an interesting experience. While it was different, it was good, but there was something missing. I was separating myself from these people, from Jason. I'm not a part of the family, I would think sadly to myself and painfully pride myself on letting Jason have moments alone without me to savor with his relatives. This untrue and silly thought was remedied while I stood by myself on the beach watching the waves roll and foam over the sand. The Oregon coast was profoundly beautiful. The Barton family had so much history in this cold, misty place that I had never seen before. I felt alone. Was I going to marry Jason or was I not? Was I in the family or was I out? I felt like every moment I was not myself made my uncertain future even more foggy. Rod came to stand next to me. We didn't say much, we just watched the waves, silently contemplating our own thoughts. I felt such comfort and peace--such sincerity in the silence that it could have been my own father standing next to me. My emotions had been rocked like the waves in a terrible storm-- and then, suddenly, the sun came out. I knew what my future held. This was my family.
I was in.
You gain so many good things when you get married.
I'm just grateful that I got the Bartons.
A new sense of purpose. Growing responsibility. A greater appreciation for your spouse. A few extra pounds and, most importantly, a new family.
Before I was married, the idea of in-laws always daunted me. How could one reconcile oneself to people with which there is no history? What if your backgrounds are too different, and you become the person in the family that everyone rolls their eyes at or ignores? The crazy aunt. The weird sister-in-law, perpetually out of place, creeping into corners and scaring all the children at family parties. My fears, of course, were completely unwarranted. Every single one of my siblings have married incredible men and women-- people that, though I have no direct relation, I feel I could be bound to by blood-ties.
When I met Jason's parents for the first time I was deeply impressed by their kindness. I saw their newborn grandson in the hospital at the same time I met Jason's sister in-law, Michelle. I was touched by this willingness to include me, a complete stranger, in something that was so exciting and precious. I watched Rod tease Jason and was, in turn, teased myself. I lost a MarioKart race to a four year-old. I wiped snot from the noses of nieces and nephews. I held Tarrin's beautiful baby. This was something that I quickly learned about the Bartons--once you're in, you're all in. I loved this most about Jason. This is what shaped him into the person I had grown to adore. I saw his face reflected sometimes in the faces of his siblings-- a passing shadow across the eyes, a facial expression, a laugh. I saw how at home he was with his family and knew that this was important. If I wanted to be a part of his life I had to know more.
I went to Oregon with the whole family for a week the summer before Jason and I became engaged. How different the Bartons were from my own family! And how good it was to be different. My family revolves around food and loud, interrupted conversations. The Bartons revolve around activity-- there is always an agenda, a new sight to see, an interesting experience. While it was different, it was good, but there was something missing. I was separating myself from these people, from Jason. I'm not a part of the family, I would think sadly to myself and painfully pride myself on letting Jason have moments alone without me to savor with his relatives. This untrue and silly thought was remedied while I stood by myself on the beach watching the waves roll and foam over the sand. The Oregon coast was profoundly beautiful. The Barton family had so much history in this cold, misty place that I had never seen before. I felt alone. Was I going to marry Jason or was I not? Was I in the family or was I out? I felt like every moment I was not myself made my uncertain future even more foggy. Rod came to stand next to me. We didn't say much, we just watched the waves, silently contemplating our own thoughts. I felt such comfort and peace--such sincerity in the silence that it could have been my own father standing next to me. My emotions had been rocked like the waves in a terrible storm-- and then, suddenly, the sun came out. I knew what my future held. This was my family.
I was in.
You gain so many good things when you get married.
I'm just grateful that I got the Bartons.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Wednesday Winston: A slight scare.
My scream probably scared Winston more than being flipped upside down.
It was the spiders that did it.
They were terrifyingly huge, with abdomens the size of a penny and long, thick, hairy legs protruding from their sides. After Jason slammed on the brakes, Winston and his carrier did a silly little flip in mid-air and landed wrong side-up in the backseat. The spiders scuttled heavily over the bottom of the cat-carrier while Winston struggled to right himself and I screamed and screamed "Jason! Jason! Pull over!! Pull over!!"
He did.
After the spiders had been disposed of and Winston righted in his carrier, we continued on our way. Winston was shaking. I pulled him out of his carrier and felt his little heart pounding through his small chest. His whole body was overcome by violent tremors. I couldn't bear to put him back in his carrier.
This is how we rode to Salt Lake.
It was the spiders that did it.
They were terrifyingly huge, with abdomens the size of a penny and long, thick, hairy legs protruding from their sides. After Jason slammed on the brakes, Winston and his carrier did a silly little flip in mid-air and landed wrong side-up in the backseat. The spiders scuttled heavily over the bottom of the cat-carrier while Winston struggled to right himself and I screamed and screamed "Jason! Jason! Pull over!! Pull over!!"
He did.
After the spiders had been disposed of and Winston righted in his carrier, we continued on our way. Winston was shaking. I pulled him out of his carrier and felt his little heart pounding through his small chest. His whole body was overcome by violent tremors. I couldn't bear to put him back in his carrier.
This is how we rode to Salt Lake.
He was so happy.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Tootles.
This person was extremely small. He had sandy brown hair, chubby pink cheeks and brightly gleaming round glasses. He was cute enough to break your heart.
He stood before me, shaking.
"Give her the book," his mother told him sternly.
He placed a thick board book with brightly colored pictures on the counter. Tootles the Train, it was called.
"Tell her you're sorry," said the mother.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice a whisper.
Looking at his small worried face, my mind flashed back to another child who wore glasses. A shy child who wished and dreamed for many things, but never could muster up the courage to ask. A child who was surpassingly crafty-- not because she liked stealing, but because she loved pretty and shiny things--like a crow. But more than anything she loved books, and it was books that she often....borrowed. Without asking.
"He's just fine," I told the mother, smiling at Tootles. I would have loved to give him the book, but of course I couldn't. I watched him walk away and experienced a fleeting impression that he was a person full of enormous potential, thief or no.
After all, I think I turned out just fine.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Wednesday Winston: The Stinky Blanket
Sometimes Winston is dirty.
My bed is white.
In order to prevent these two things from mixing, we have given Winston his own blanket, which he can lick himself on, shed, knead, and do other, undesirable cat-like things.
This particular duvet cover is from eigth grade. I ordered it from a Delia's magazine. It was a bribe from my mother: I would get the duvet cover and pillow cases if I allowed her to teach me about the birds and the bees.
Ahem.
I had to have it.
And now Winston has to have it.
My bed is white.
In order to prevent these two things from mixing, we have given Winston his own blanket, which he can lick himself on, shed, knead, and do other, undesirable cat-like things.
This particular duvet cover is from eigth grade. I ordered it from a Delia's magazine. It was a bribe from my mother: I would get the duvet cover and pillow cases if I allowed her to teach me about the birds and the bees.
Ahem.
I had to have it.
And now Winston has to have it.
He really must have it.
Wednesday, August 03, 2011
Wednesday Winston: Sweet dreams
I was in a cold sweat, my hands shaking, my head heavy.
I slumped over the side of the bed, my mind fighting against the aching memory of a disturbing dream. Phantoms drifted in and out of my consciousness, the malaise hanging over me like a dark cloud. "Stop thinking about it!" I commanded myself, willing my heart to cease its frantic palpitations, my mind to halt the fear. Something in the old house creaked, and I froze under my blanket. This was it. The terrors of my imagination were becoming real! Just as I decided to wake up Jason, I turned over and there, stretched out to his full length with his small face hidden under an arm, was Winston-- a furry, fluffy, warm, magically alive Winston. I pulled him toward me by his back feet. His whiskers twitched. He opened one eye. I wrapped an arm around him and, very slowly, he laid his head down, his face pointed towards mine, the pointed caps of his fangs slightly protruding. As he exhaled I could feel the warm, steady puff of his stale breath on my cheek and I held him close to me, like a teddy bear, until I fell asleep again-- my dreams permeated with softer things.
I slumped over the side of the bed, my mind fighting against the aching memory of a disturbing dream. Phantoms drifted in and out of my consciousness, the malaise hanging over me like a dark cloud. "Stop thinking about it!" I commanded myself, willing my heart to cease its frantic palpitations, my mind to halt the fear. Something in the old house creaked, and I froze under my blanket. This was it. The terrors of my imagination were becoming real! Just as I decided to wake up Jason, I turned over and there, stretched out to his full length with his small face hidden under an arm, was Winston-- a furry, fluffy, warm, magically alive Winston. I pulled him toward me by his back feet. His whiskers twitched. He opened one eye. I wrapped an arm around him and, very slowly, he laid his head down, his face pointed towards mine, the pointed caps of his fangs slightly protruding. As he exhaled I could feel the warm, steady puff of his stale breath on my cheek and I held him close to me, like a teddy bear, until I fell asleep again-- my dreams permeated with softer things.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The Best Nest
After weeks and weeks we are finally starting to get settled into our home.
When my parents came to visit, my mother described the place as a "dollhouse." With all its nooks, crannies and eccentricities, I think she summed it up just right. Everything in the house is small-- the doorways, the hall, the closets, the cupboards. Jason and I spent a good 30 minutes cramming our sofa into this miniature reading nook.
To this day I'm not exactly sure how we managed it. Needless to say, I won't be moving it again any time soon.
To accompany my dollhouse, I acquired some doll furniture. We bought this desk from D.I. for $25. I painted it mint green and attached a truly spectacular drawer pull to it and this was the result:
I also borrowed a leaf out of my sister's, Sasha;s, book and made a flower wreath for our dining nook.
When my parents came to visit, my mother described the place as a "dollhouse." With all its nooks, crannies and eccentricities, I think she summed it up just right. Everything in the house is small-- the doorways, the hall, the closets, the cupboards. Jason and I spent a good 30 minutes cramming our sofa into this miniature reading nook.
And then of course there are the various tiny china cabinets throughout the house which I quickly filled with all my treasures...
The bedroom is by far the largest room in the house, and the one in which Winston likes best to respose.
Welcome to the dollhouse.
Better pictures to come soon.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
A good man is hard to find.
Plunger in hand, I watched in horror as the murky water steadily rose to the tip of the bowl. I screamed once-- a strangled, desperate cry-- "No-no-no-no-no-no!" but there was no stopping it. With a gut-wrenching sloosh it came in a great dirty wave over the sides of the toilet and onto the formerly sparkling bathroom floor. I groaned and would have fallen to my knees and cried, but, as the floor was swimming in toilet water, I danced instead upon my tiptoes while fat tears rolled down my cheeks and gagged as the water continued to gush out of the toilet and onto the floor.
A flooding toilet. A dripping faucet. A broken outlet. These aren't just the joys of home ownership-- they're the joys of home rental. In our old apartment we went two whole days without running water. We brushed our teeth with distilled water and filled Winston's bowl with a jug we kept in the fridge. We nearly suffocated when the weather turned hot as we'd painted our windows shut. The kitchen faucet leaked every time the shower turned on and our front room window had a large crack in it, but, as evidenced by all my former blog posts, it was the best and sweetest of homes to us.
Where we live has always been a big deal to Jason and me. It doesn't take much to please us; we both-yes both- get excited about a well-designed home, an ivy covered wall, some decorative trim, a large window. "That's a nice house," Jason will say to me excitedly, pointing at a modest, slightly run-down one bedroom home. And then I'll see that it has a curved hobbit door. And then I'll notice the huge tree in the front yard, and the beautiful flowers growing in the garden. And then I'll turn to Jason and tell him everything I'd do to improve it inside and out while he chimes in with the easiest and most practical method of carrying out my plans. On a trip from Powell, Wyoming to Salt Lake City we spent over six hours mentally designing our dream home. Six hours. We planned everything. And we only stopped because our voices became hoarse. There was more to imagine, more to improve, more to build.
There always is when I'm with Jason.
When we toured our current residence for the first time I wanted to cry. To perhaps a more experienced eye our apartment probably looks pretty mediocre at best-- the chipped wooden floors. The aging wallpaper. The unflushable toilet.
But I don't see it.
When I stepped over the threshold I felt all my dreams coming true-- china cabinets in every room! Black and white tile in the bathroom! Wainscoating in the kitchen! Jason held my hand as we walked through and I desperately refrained from squealing and touching everything-- two of my most unfortunate habits. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him watching me closely, observing my reaction to the cabinets, the lights, the porch, absorbing wave after wave of each new delight-- a hidden cupboard. A living room and dining nook. A dressing room. I squeezed his hand and whispered in his ear "I love this house!" to which he just smiled, because he already knew I would.
That night I tossed in bed, my heart aching. I don't think I've ever coveted anything as much as this apartment. I turned to see Jason looking at me, the feverish glow in my eyes reflected in his.
As I stood in the middle of my water-logged bathroom I realized that this, the apartment of my dreams, was imperfect, just as any 100 year old home is prone to be. I heard the squeak of the door as Jason stepped into the room beside me, and, following my fretful explanation, enveloped me in a kindly, slightly damp hug. As we finished mopping up the water our minds began to fall into the mists of dreaming and scheming--once again imagining the endless possibilities that our imaginations can yield.
A flooding toilet. A dripping faucet. A broken outlet. These aren't just the joys of home ownership-- they're the joys of home rental. In our old apartment we went two whole days without running water. We brushed our teeth with distilled water and filled Winston's bowl with a jug we kept in the fridge. We nearly suffocated when the weather turned hot as we'd painted our windows shut. The kitchen faucet leaked every time the shower turned on and our front room window had a large crack in it, but, as evidenced by all my former blog posts, it was the best and sweetest of homes to us.
Where we live has always been a big deal to Jason and me. It doesn't take much to please us; we both-yes both- get excited about a well-designed home, an ivy covered wall, some decorative trim, a large window. "That's a nice house," Jason will say to me excitedly, pointing at a modest, slightly run-down one bedroom home. And then I'll see that it has a curved hobbit door. And then I'll notice the huge tree in the front yard, and the beautiful flowers growing in the garden. And then I'll turn to Jason and tell him everything I'd do to improve it inside and out while he chimes in with the easiest and most practical method of carrying out my plans. On a trip from Powell, Wyoming to Salt Lake City we spent over six hours mentally designing our dream home. Six hours. We planned everything. And we only stopped because our voices became hoarse. There was more to imagine, more to improve, more to build.
There always is when I'm with Jason.
When we toured our current residence for the first time I wanted to cry. To perhaps a more experienced eye our apartment probably looks pretty mediocre at best-- the chipped wooden floors. The aging wallpaper. The unflushable toilet.
But I don't see it.
When I stepped over the threshold I felt all my dreams coming true-- china cabinets in every room! Black and white tile in the bathroom! Wainscoating in the kitchen! Jason held my hand as we walked through and I desperately refrained from squealing and touching everything-- two of my most unfortunate habits. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him watching me closely, observing my reaction to the cabinets, the lights, the porch, absorbing wave after wave of each new delight-- a hidden cupboard. A living room and dining nook. A dressing room. I squeezed his hand and whispered in his ear "I love this house!" to which he just smiled, because he already knew I would.
That night I tossed in bed, my heart aching. I don't think I've ever coveted anything as much as this apartment. I turned to see Jason looking at me, the feverish glow in my eyes reflected in his.
As I stood in the middle of my water-logged bathroom I realized that this, the apartment of my dreams, was imperfect, just as any 100 year old home is prone to be. I heard the squeak of the door as Jason stepped into the room beside me, and, following my fretful explanation, enveloped me in a kindly, slightly damp hug. As we finished mopping up the water our minds began to fall into the mists of dreaming and scheming--once again imagining the endless possibilities that our imaginations can yield.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Limbo time!
Excuse the lack of blogging, pictures and Wednesday Winstons. We have recently moved from our old apartment and are currently trying to get everything in order.
Lots of juicy posts to come!
Love.
Lots of juicy posts to come!
Love.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Wednesday Winston: Bright eyes
I turn around and see this:
Alien kitty returns.
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