(Being the fictionalized account, based on the few details we do have of Teia's 10 1/2 years before she came to live with us)

Part One:

She could not remember much about Mama and her siblings.

No matter how hard she tried, all that came were bits and pieces...images of the old shack in which Mama had taken shelter after her family had cast her out.  It was the place where she and her siblings were born.

The damp wooden walls and hard packed dirt floor never seemed to be warm enough.  The dim light from the flyspecked windows that was just enough for them to see by.  The snow that infiltrated the small spaces between the wall boards...

The noises heard from outside the confines of their little world: slamming doors, loud voices of the "others," strange roars rushing by ... wind whistling through the cracks in the walls, the rustling of their bodies in the dry hay.

Mustiness and milk, dry hay and wet pee, Mama's clean scent and a whiff of the "Others" when they came close by.

The sharp contrast between the bitter cold when mama went looking for food, leaving them huddled in their rough bedding and the warmth when Mama returned and lay down with them.

As the days wore on, she and her sibs began to walk and explore their little world.  Endless games of hide and seek, tag, and catch as catch can wrestling filled their days; with Mama watching from atop her seat, or in her absence.

Then, that terrible day came when Mama did not return.  The snow outside had melted; she and her sibs had grown well.  They were on their own.

The boys left first, seeing a grand new adventure.  She and her sister waited, hoping Mama would return.

The hunger became too much.  They went out, leaving the world as they knew it.  They separated, each alone for the first time.

She never saw any of them again.

Going by what seemed right; she found some things to eat.  They were good, but not as good as what Mama provided.  She was lonely and scared.  So many big, noisy things going by, night seemed much safer than day.

But night had its hazards, too.

Others of her kind lived in the area.  Most of them went about their own business, ignoring her.  A few, however, saw her as an enemy, and attacked her.  Luckily, most were too large to follow her into her hiding place; those that weren't, were too smart to follow.

It sometimes took a few days before she felt up to going out again, but hunger would always drive her forth.

She decided to try her luck in the day for the first time in a long while, waiting until the outside noises had died down.

Maybe, the others who had hurt her would be asleep still.

Behind one of the places of the Big Others, she found something that smelled very good.  It tasted very good, so she ate.

She heard a footstep, but did not run quick enough.

A male young of the Big Others had come upon her and grabbed her by the neck, like Mama did when they were young.  But this was not the gentleness she recalled; it was the meanness she'd had from others of her kind.

"Hey Frankie!" Jimmy went running from his backyard to the front of the house, dangling the young cat by the scruff of its neck.  "Look what I caught, that cat that's been getting at the finches!"

The cat slipped from his grip, lying on the sidewalk stunned by the fall.  He picked it up again, hands around its neck and shoulders.  Its forelegs were jutting out at an odd angle.

"Frankie!" receiving no answer, he addressed the cat, "Okay pest, I'm gonna hurt you, like you hurt my birds..."

Jimmy looked at the open top dumpster in the next yard, eying the distance..."Yeah, you're about football size.  Let's see if I can kick a field goal with you."

Gino came out of his house with some trash and saw that fat kid from next-door holding a cat he'd seen around the neighborhood.

"Hey, Jimmy," he yelled, "What the hell you doing to that cat!?"

Jimmy dropped the cat, which he'd been about to drop kick.

“Ah, it just a good for nothin' stray; keeps eating my birds."

"Your birds?"

"The finches that come to my feeder."

The small cat struggled to rise as Gino approached.

"You mean the ones you catch for yourself?"  He looked down at her and then backhanded Jimmy across the mouth.  A slow trickle of blood came from the boy's split lip.

"How do you like pain, fat boy?"

Jimmy started to cry, "My daddy..."

"Your daddy what!?"

Jimmy turned ashen and then ran into his house.

Gino picked up the cat, cuddling her close even as she struggled and tried to bite him.

He walked into his house.

"Okay kitty, you're scared and hurt." he caressed her head; she tried to grab his hand with her claws but her legs didn’t quite work. "Good little fighter, I like that.  We'll get you better."

He wrapped her in a thick towel, so she just surrendered to the pain and fear, passing out.

Gino wrote a note; leaving it propped up on the keyboard of his wife's computer (never used the damn thing himself).

"Wendy, caught one of the neighborhood kids molesting one of the stray cats I've been watching.  I am taking it to Doc Bennett.  He still owes me for that storm debris I hauled away.  Maybe Chesty will like another kitty in the house, give him a rest from the children."

Gino picked up the bundled cat; which seemed so small and fragile.  She rested easily on the seat beside him during the drive to the clinic.

Gino placed his bundle on the counter.  "Hiya, Mrs. Bennett, got a hurt young cat here.  One of the neighborhood kids was using her like a football."

Nancy Bennett rubbed her forehead, having heard too many stories like that lately; seems the bad economy brought out the worst in some people.

"Okay Gino," she stood, peeling back the towel a little," pretty face, girl or boy?"

"Didn't look."

Nancy slowly unwrapped the kitty, "Well, you have a girl cat, doesn't look over 6 months. Do you have a name for her?"

"A girl kitty, hmmm," Gino patted his nose, thinking, "Well she's feisty, like my great aunt Theresa, but little.  What did nonnie call auntie?"

He snapped his fingers and stabbed the air with his right index finger, "Ah, Teia, for little Theresa.  We'll call her Teia."

Nancy entered the name on the admittance sheet.  "I suppose you want Donald to look her over and get her well."

Uh, yeah, I was hoping Chesty would like another cat in the house."

"We'll keep her for a few days, get those shoulder looked at...spay her?"

"Yes."

"Declaw, like Chesty?"

"Um, no, Wendy was very unhappy about that."  Gino paused, "Could we call it even, for that yard work I did at your house after the storm?"

Nancy smiled, "I think Donald will be fine with that, so will I."

He turned to leave, knowing that Teia would receive good care.

"Oh, just call me when she's ready."

"Gino," Nancy said as he turned the knob to go. "I never knew you had a soft spot for cats."

He didn't face her, "You know I was in the Service and went to the Middle East?"

"I do know that Gino."

"Got a soft spot for any young thing that gets hurt."  He left.

The next few days were a blur.  These Big Others seemed different.  They made gentle noises and treated her nice, like Mama had.

Whatever they did, the pain in her shoulders went away, but her belly felt real funny after one time she woke up, like something was gone.  It was bare and a sore, red line ran down her middle.  But the nice things to eat made her sleepy...

"Good morning Mrs. Bennett, Teia's ready to go then?" Gino asked when the counter bell was answered.

"Yes, she is," replied Nancy, "I'll go get her for you."

Nancy came out of the back, accompanied by her husband, who had a pet carrier in his hands.  He set it on the counter.

Donald shook hands with Gino.  "She'll need at least 3 or 4 more days of quiet, spaying takes more healing than neutering."

"Okay." Gino paused, "...and the bill?"

Donald smiled, "Just like you asked Nancy, the yard work for the kitty work, and the carrier."

"How bad was she hurt, Doc?"

"She had several old scars, looks like other cats got to her at one time or another.  She didn't have any recent injuries of that sort." the vet shook his head, "Both of her shoulders were dislocated, nothing broken, though.  She is going to walk with a limp in her front legs for the rest of her life, I think.  Damn kid hurt her pretty bad."

"His daddy had a few words for me, but didn't do nothin'."  answering the question that would be next, "When I caught the kid hurting Teia, I gave him a fat lip, asked him how he liked the pain."

Donald patted his shoulder, "You're a good guy Gino, and I hope she fits in okay.  She'll heal well, I can tell she’s a fighter."

It turned out that Chesty did not want another cat in the house and picked on her when he could.  Gino and Wendy decided to try and keep the kitties separated as best they could.

Gino tried making friends, but even though he had brought her into the Safe-Place, she did not like HIS CAT and so did not like him much either.

Then there were the young Big Others, which took up a lot of his and hers time; Teia did not like them either.

Teia didn't mind so much, she had a safe place, did not need to go Out any more.  They gave her good, crunchy food, cool water and a clean box of stuff to dig in, like the dirt outside, but nicer.  They left her alone.

When the mean cat went away "To the Vet" and did not come back, life was better.

When all the People were asleep, she wandered the Place, occasionally finding a mouse or bug. She’d eat them, still not sure if this Place would be for always, keeping up the hunting skills.  If all the others were gone, she’d look out a window, watching the finches she loved so well.

Many, many moons came and went...

The young Big Others had learned to leave her alone, as did the Man.  The Woman had become the one to feed her, change her water and give her clean diggy stuff in her box; all seemed good.  The Woman took her "To the Vet," but always brought her back to the Place.

Something had changed, the People were uneasy, the Place was unsettled.  When the Young Others went out, the Big Others made harsh, angry noises at each other; the atmosphere was tense.  Teia stayed hidden even more.

One day, the Woman and another female Big Other that the Woman showed affection towards (Teia had seen her before), came into her room with the Box for To the Vet.  The Woman looked sad and the other kept making soothing noises towards her.

They put Teia in the Box and the other put her in a different Car than usual.

She never saw Her People again; it had been such a long, long time...

This ride took longer than going To the Vet, and at the end of it, new Big Others…

First new Offering song in awhile

Ostara Blessing - Spring Even-night 2013

Spring Even-night has come again

Herald of warmth and new green growth

Ostara has walked o’er the Land

Ever welcome for her blessing

Happy the Day! Happy the Folk!

Kin, Kith and Friends, sitting at board

Winter is o’er, Weal has topped Woe

Time to give thanks and look ahead

-Burden-

On the morrow, first farming day

Earth will be turned, stones will be picked

Fields to be made ready for seed

Looking ahead to Harvest Gain

-Burden-

Skies will be watched for signs of frost

To help assure that crops will grow

Too early will hurt young seedlings

Warmth for the earth will ward their strength

-Burden-

All of this will, prepare the way

For sowing seed in rich, dark earth

Plots are laid out, furrows stretch long

Hope for the days to come ahead

-Burden-

Under the sun, many toil

To wrest the wealth that all will need

When Even-night comes once again

Winter’s Herald, at Harvest time

-Burden-

Happy the Day! Happy the Folk!

Kin, Kith and Friends, sitting at board

Winter is o’er, Weal has topped Woe

Time to give thanks and look ahead

-Burden-

-Burden-

(Originally from my Piparskeggr FB timeline, yesterday)

Been reading a few things, thinking a bit..

I'm not a hugely accomplished man in many ways, and am so in others. That's the sign I've lived a life.

From time to time folks will ask if there is something I do not know about, something I have not done...

I wonder to myself, can their horizons be so limited that the bits and pieces of my life look like a wide frontier of experience?

I live my life. I like to learn things, sometimes doing something just enough to see how the skill works, lots of that water past the mill. I like to listen to new voices, new songs, see things I have never before…although I can be quite a hermit at times.

Everyday has to be a learning time. Truly, we can’t help it.

Midgard is overflowing with interesting people, places, creatures, things and occurrences, how can you NOT learn something every day.

On top of this, if you are speaking with someone, how can you avoid showing them something new from your store of knowledge?

The Gods quickened Man with Life.
The Gods set within us a Will to Strive.
The Gods unleashed our Minds to Think.
The Gods expect us to use their Gifts, for good or ill, as we choose.

I think, with the 5th anniversary of my pacemaker implant approaching, I feel the edge of the Norns’ shears being sharpened. I believe that they do watch every thread and see when the time has come to cut it and begin with a new one in the weave. I also feel that my thread will continue for quite some time longer.

It has worn thin at times, come near to breaking, but the core strands hold fast.

I also think that the uprooting Anita and I have done with our lives has been a “great disturbance in the Force.”

We lived in northern Illinois for the longest period of years since we left our parents’ hearths when we wed.

We had roots, which were sundered.
We had friends, who we will now see only once in a great while.
We had a house, which became a home.
We had a life, which became comfortable, but was a cocoon.

Anita and I have been together over 35 years. We have had our ordeals, but life has not been a dreadfully hard row to hoe.

We persevere, for that is
...how our parents showed us.
…how our grandparents showed us.
…how our aunts and uncles showed us.

Steadfast
Stand Fast
Hold Fast
Faith-full
Staunch
Sure
True…

Watchwords.

Everyone falters, Gods and Man know I do, oh so well.

However long it takes, it is if you try and rise after faltering that shows you Worthy of Life, Will and Mind.

I may not end up as Worthy at the end of my run, but I will surely live as if I will be.

A few pence upon the start of my 57th year.

In the light of day, again...

Just a quick note;

Spent several hours last night sittin', thinkin' n drinkin' ... polished off a couple bottles of wine, which I very rarely do anymore.

Been through a lot emotionally, mentally and physically the past several years.

But, Anita and I have a new road we're mapping out as she will be taking on a job for the first time in over 14 years.  By summer's end we'll be living in southern Maryland and she'll be working at Patuxent River NAS in the acquisitions program for a couple of years, after which she'll be transferred to the NAVAIR test and development office.

It's an exciting and scary time, which hit last night, and the red wine flowed, and my head and belly hurt today.

Ah well.

Long time - no Pip...20 February 2010

(01/22/2012 - I am in process of transferring posts from elsewhere, so the sequence is off, but many of the sentiments are current.)

It's been a few months since I've written anything here.

Many of my readers know me from other "places" and are likely aware of what is transpiring.

The last week of June, I had this terribly strong feeling that I needed to go home to Massachusetts for a visit. My wife and I were planning on doing so to be at my niece's wedding the 1st weekend of October. But, I had this overwhelming notion that if I did not go at the beginning of July, there would be someone close to me who would not be there in October.

It was a good visit...even had a spontaneous day with my dad (he's a man of habit, routine and planning). I had been telling him of some of the genealogy research I'd been doing. A name I mentioned sparked his memory...all of a sudden he offers to take a day trip, drive up to the village where my great grandmother (Mary Francis Burke nee Brady) was born. He'd recalled attending the funeral of one of her cousins in 1951, when he was 16.

We spent several hours there (Williamsburg and Haydenville), driving around the area and then we stopped at the cemetery. We found the cousin's grave, along with several others I could match with names in my research notes.

Dad had a bad cough and seemed to tire more easily than usual; losing weight, too. Mom and I worked on him to go see the doctor. He did the week after I returned to Illinois.

He'd been walking around with a pneumonia infection. During the followup for that treatment (at the end of August), they found a lemon-sized tumor in his right lung, located around the pulmonary artery, which had been masked by the pneumonia.

Preliminary treatments started; 2nd chemo was the Monday after the Wedding. Chemo was chosen because there was evidence that the cancer had spread some after the X-ray - MRI - PET - CAT - Blood Panel series was done. When it was just the big tumor, they were looking at targeted radiation. The doctors offered no false hope; when found, the cancer was already Stage 4.

Dad had a good day for the gathering...was alert and engaged during the ceremony (11 AM), ate his dinner and stayed until 9 PM at the reception afterwards. He slept most of the day afterwards and was cranky when awake.

I also got him over to his brother's house, the first time they'd been able to visit in person since July, Uncle Ed has very bad circulation in his legs and can not walk much. I also found my great grandmother Robinson's grave and brought my dad to see her. She died 4 years before he was born.

Things seemed to be going well, but the chemo did little save kick the snot out of him...

Thanksgiving was another good day for him, but he collapsed on that Saturday.  (Found out later it was the first of two micro-strokes he'd had.)

I went home again at the beginning of December. Frankly, death warmed over would have looked better. The doctors (with dad's participation) stopped chemo and put him on palliative medications, including steroids to combat inflammation. They also decided to try targeted radiation. By the end of this visit he was well enough to be transferred to an acute care facility. Uncle Ed was doing well enough that he visited dad in the hospital (the day before the transfer to the nursing facility).

Dad was home again after a couple of weeks, effecting his desire to spend the Christmas and New Year's Holidays at home. He wanted my nieces and nephews to remember him at home, rather than in hospital or nursing facility.

They are all old enough (youngest is 19) to have a raft of good memories, regardless.

The radiation did shrink the main tumor, so he was able to be home. My sister and nephews adapted my parents' 4-season porch (just off the kitchen) into a "bedsitter" for him. There is also a bathroom just off the kitchen, so he's got a little "apartment."

Dad had a set back last month, was back in hospital and then the same nursing facility...a lung infection, which did respond to treatment.

He is back home, responding to the continued palliative treatments. (Again, I was later informed by my mom that dad was actually in Hospice, she didn't want me to worry overmuch as I live 1100 miles away.)

Mom says he's happy; got his TV, books, crossword puzzles, just enough company. He's gotten more emotional, she said. I think the illness has just uncapped the feelings he's kept in reserve all his life.

He does have a few goals still; 1st one is this coming Thursday, his 75th birthday. I am flying back to spend it with him. Next will be my parents' 54th Wedding Anniversary at the beginning of June, mom's birthday at the end of June and the birth of his first great grandchild, sometime in July.

At the beginning of December, the doctors gave him 3 months. The way he's not just hanging on, but doing remarkably well...I think he'll make it to holding the child in July.

It will be an opportunity for us to have a 5 generation picture, as my mother's father is still with us. He'll be 99 the beginning of June and is relatively healthy for his age.

Latest sign of some fight left in him; he wants a kitten.

As for me, I'm coming out of a bout with depression, again. Hard to feel 100% when your dad's on the final leg of the journey...

(...and as you'll read, dad did not make it to seeing his first great grandchild, and now there are three: Parker 29 June 2010, Zoey 9 September 2011 and Naomi 5 January 2012.)

Stewart John Robinson - an elegy - - 6 March 2010

(Pip note 22 JAN 2012: We buried my dad on Monday 1 March 2010.  I was visiting because my mom was going to have a series of small birthday partied for him over the weekend in light of the cancer from which he was dying.  I've started to gather my web writing to this new blog, and my dad figures very large in my life and in my heart.)

My dad was born on 25 February 1935 a little before 8 in the morning.  My dad died on 25 February 2010, a little before 8 in the morning.

Turning 75 was the last, big goal he had.

He was sitting in his comfy chair, having refused to go to bed the evening before when mom and I tried to help him up.

He was tired of fighting, tired of not being the one to help others, tired of not being able to do for himself those basic things we all take for granted.

I help moderate a list for new members of the AFA, we answer their questions, pose those of our own and like to give examples...I was trying to write a poem of how to know a worthy life and my dad came to mind (this was written several days before he passed - [Copyright 7 February 2010, Steven P Robinson] ).  My mom, seeking to protect me, had not let me know that dad was in hospice care.  I went home expecting a birthday party, and got a Parting instead.

It is what it is...

He taught me that "woulda," "shoulda," and "coulda" are the three most toxic words in the English language.

Heck, I think think he passed on when he did to make it easier on everyone, as we were gathering for his birthday anyhow.

Here's the full eulogy I spoke at his Funeral Mass, which began 10 AM, 1 March, 2010. Even the priest (who did know my dad a little) thought it was good.

One thing I did not say; my dad, Stewart, was a man of deep faith in the Holy as he saw It, which was Roman Catholic in worldview. He was devout, but he accepted (not merely tolerated) that folks, including his children, believed different. He told me and my siblings so.

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I try to understand the world around me and do a lot of my thinking by writing poetry.

In trying to understand my dad's life as an example of a worthwhile life, I wrote the following, and a few other observations.

Tell me, Show me...

You can tell a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to hear.
You can show a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to see.

This is the way the wide world turns,
Between the skies and the waters;
That some will live their life in full,
And others will merely survive.

How does one live a worthy life,
And craft strong Fate and gain good Luck?
How does one know a worthy life,
And speak true words for common good?

It starts at birth in Family,
To parents dear, who'll raise you up,
To learn and grow, to know your Folk,
To find a way to better self.

Among the things from Kin and Kith,
Which shape the thoughts we have of world,
We gain beliefs and points of view,
Which shape the way we face each day.

And as we grow from Childhood,
To Youth, to Teen and then Adult,
We gain more thoughts from wider world,
To goad the mind, become more whole.

But roots we have from Kin and Kith,
They'll hold us fast, if we hold on,
To good, true ways with wisdom's strength,
Take care of those we know and love.

Take hold, take care, be strong, be true,
To learn and think, to speak and do,
In this we'll gain, build up good Name,
For this is heart of worthy life.

And at the end of all our years,
When we tread on that Final Walk,
And stand before our Holy Ones,
Upright and proud, as well we should.

You can tell a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to hear.
You can show a man, but not too much,
Unless he is ready to see.

This is the way the wide world turns,
Between the skies and the waters;
That some will live their life in full,
And others will merely survive.

My dad was not a survivor, he lived life in full.

He was his own man, who did right by family, friends and community.

He was proud, but not prideful.

He was private, but shared of himself.

He wanted stability, but accepted difference.

He was reserved, but he trusted.

He loved words, but wasn't wordy.

He was wealthy in the things that matter most.

I am proud to be his son and did well enough to earn his pride in me.

He always seemed to have a plan, and always left on time.

Dad, thanks for stopping by...

(and as I passed his casket on the way back to my seat, I paused, placed my hand over him and said...)

So long, Old Scout, you can walk in the woods whenever you want now...

Thinking about my dad, again...1 May 2010

Well, just over 8 weeks since he died and just under 8 weeks since we buried hm.

The wound is deeper and fresher than I realized, my feelings tested worst than I'd admitted.

I do a lot of my thinking "aloud," by writing poetry.

I wrote this morning, looking to sort things out for myself...


Grey Muse

Through the tears in my soul;
Came the tears to my eyes.
And pale was my heart
As I walked past the Pale

The journey was bleak
As I strode alone
Beneath the wan light
Of an ashy grey sky.

The path was dusty
Though no mark I left
My foot falls were muffled
As if I were naught

Ahead was a sight
The same as behind
From darkness I came
To darkness I trekked

Then off to the side
A spark danced afar
Tiny, actinic
Attracting my eyes

The light seemed to call
Alter your course
Get out of this path
Take hold of yourself

My body felt leaden
Fighting the thoughts
Of turning aside
And leaving the gloom

My Self shrieked at Me
As if the effort
Were causing great pain
Great fear and great burden

But I slowly turned
As I sensed the Right
That following flare
Was best thing to do

The ground seemed to heal
As I left the dust
And finally my feet
Were buried in grass

I looked behind
The darkness was clear
A part of my past
Perhaps journey's end

But something inside
Had known all along
That I still had life
And things I must do

The dark had been quiet,
Calming and kind
The easiest path
For me, myself and I

But that's not the way
I had learned to walk
Not easiest path
But being and doing

The light's where I am
It's where I will stay
Though I know that the dark
Ever will lurk

Through the tears in my soul;
Came the tears to my eyes.
And pale was my heart
As I walked past the Pale