The ability to judge what is worth pondering or taking on. The insight and intuition to decide that something isn’t for you. The capability to decide that if something isn’t for you, you can leave it and go on about your day.
The wisdom to own your own shit and know that other peoples’ shit is not yours to own. To not give a fuck if people don’t like that you curse.
To determine it’s perfectly acceptable to water your plants wearing your bathrobe and your slippers. To go out in a very nice outfit, but not wear a stitch of makeup on your face. (This is closely related to wearing a bathrobe to water your plants.) Also, with age comes the knowledge and the understanding that what people see on the outside is not who you are on the inside. And who you are on the inside is much more important than what you look like.
My birthday is tomorrow. One more trip around the sun. Susie passed away in my lap this past Monday, and my best friend’s mother died about five hours later. It has been a difficult week, and I have scaled it alone, save for several good souls. And I have made it through. With age comes inner strength you didn’t know you had.
With age comes discernment. With age comes the knowledge that grief is love. You learn people can only ever treat you the way they feel about themselves. Sometimes you can do everything possible, but if you are misunderstood by others, it won’t make a difference. And you have to just let that shit go.
I have learned pets are a gift from above. Animals do not offer conditional love, theirs is only unconditional. They love simply because that’s what they do. For people who don’t know the love of a pet, or specifically a cat, I’m sorry. Your life has not been enriched in the way that mine has. Tiny humans grow up and they begin to place conditions on their love. It’s what the world does to us. But a pet never does. A 17-year-old cat still loves unconditionally, the same as when they were a tiny baby. My birthday wish is that humans may strive to be less conditional with their love, and be more like “animals.”
List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston – this is my all-time favorite book. I needed three credits in English so I took a summer course at my university and was introduced to the Harlem Renaissance. It’s not an exaggeration to say it changed my life. There was something magical about Ms. Hurston’s use of language. It envelopes and evokes. I still have the copy of the book for that class tucked away safely on my bookshelf. I do not let anyone borrow it.
My copy has this cover
2. Outlander by Diana Gabaldon – this is my second all-time favorite book. I had no idea what I was getting into when I started this book and series. I sent an email to the author when I finished this book and she replied. I printed it out and tucked it into the paperback, which has been read so many times it’s earmarked with love. Yes, I have the rest of the books too. Yes, I waited for what felt like 65 years for the show to be created. Yes, I’m waiting on season eight during the usual Droughtlander. But, I should say upfront the books are nothing like the series because the books are typically 1000 pages of genius storytelling, and though the series is based on the books, it in no way comes close to the original. This book is impactful due to its ability for the reader to step through the stones, as it were. It’s a place to get lost in if you’re looking to get lost. 
This isn’t my copy – mine is old and well loved and also I do not think it states on the cover that it is a New York Times best seller
3. Love Match by yours truly
Yes, it might sound a little strange to say this book impacted me a great deal, but if you’ve written a book, you know what I’m talking about. It doesn’t matter if your book was published or not, if you have written a book and it is yours, it has changed your life. If you tell other people, and they read your book, it changes you even more. When people start to have opinions about your words, that is probably the greatest impact. It takes a lot of courage to write and have other people read what you’ve written. One could even call a blog a type of book. It’s a book that keeps writing itself each day. It’s something that means something to the writer, but also it’s something that the reader takes part in. And it takes courage from the author to post their words. Words on a blog can be equally if not more impactful than an entire bound book. But that’s a different subject for a different day.
My Book
Incidentally, when I was looking for an image of my own book to post here, I found out my book is being sold on eBay for $29.08. Just a suggestion: my book isn’t that expensive brand new. I’m not sure that the seller is going to make any profit after shipping – unless of course, they found a brand new copy of my book. But another question then begs to be asked: where is my royalty check?
Do you remember your favorite book from childhood?
Are we talking about baby books that older adults read to you? Are we talking about the first book you read to yourself? Are we talking about the books you would buy at the Scholastic book fair? The fair they had every year in the trailer, and you would walk in and it would smell like new books and you knew this was your place? Or are we talking about books you read as an older child, the books that formed who you are and showed you other worlds can exist. And not only can you read them, you can write them.
I am sure they’re all in my memory somewhere, but they all exist as one.
Probably one or two of you know I had a previous blog which is not deleted, but is archived. WordPress informed me today I started that blog twelve years ago.
Nothing much came of that blog, but I created a new one, which is the one you see now. Still though, twelve years? Maybe a suitable gift from WordPress would be new daily prompts!?
Happy birthday, original blog. Thanks for being here, everyone. Let’s have some cake! 
You may not know this, but Ma’am has her own container of walnuts. No one else gets these walnuts but her. I keep it fully stocked. Yes, she is spoiled. She stopped by the café this morning and nicely requested a table for one, so I easily made the accommodations. Not even the starlings knew she was there for 40 minutes snacking, and the starlings know everything.
Now that I’m allowed to answer prompts again for the past two days, WordPress had better be ready for me. I’m not actually going to answer this prompt, but I feel like the choice of words is incorrect. Well, that wouldn’t be the first time for WordPress, am I right?
I agree, Idris 
Let’s talk about something else. Let’s continue the theme of helping animals. In mid-April we had a really hot spell. I had no air-conditioning installed at the time, and neither did the animals outside. Earlier in the morning, I washed up a few dishes in the sink and placed them next to the sink on a cloth. I didn’t dry them. I just sort of left them there with the drops of water surrounding them. I left the kitchen and came back a bit later only to find a tiny spider on the counter. I don’t know how many of you would have squished the spider, but as you know, I had Katherine I, the orb weaver, make her nest on my porch a few years ago, so I have developed a reverence for spiders. Well, at least a tolerance. I will not kill them if I can move them outside. And yes, I do realize some spiders are house spiders, and they will die outside. So we have a deal. As long as a house spider doesn’t get in my shower, it can live in my bathroom, but in a space where I can’t see it.
Back to the counter spider, I wondered what the spider was doing, but then I understood. It was drinking the water on the counter. It was thirsty and it was hot. So I let it drink, and I told it as long as it goes back to its house outside, I would not have to use the special cup with the lid to transport it outside. I watched it for several minutes and then I left it alone. It was fascinating. I came back later and it was gone. I did put a small piece of cat food next to it in case it wanted some food with its drink at the drive-through, but it didn’t seem to eat any.
Safe travels, my tiny friend.
Even insects deserve mercy, a safe home, and not to be uprooted from all that they know.
*Except the tiny ants who are found in your kitchen by the thousands and are trying to eat one grain of sugar. I cannot rescue these individuals.*
This is Ma’am. She frequently does performative art. I’ve been feeding this squirrel for at least four years. Around Thanksgiving, she showed up with two huge masses on her face. She couldn’t eat, but she tried. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew she would die if I didn’t try to help her. I searched the internet for help and found a wildlife rehab nearby. The woman there told me to get the squirrel into a cat carrier and bring her over to her house via car.
I had the cat carrier, but I didn’t have much conviction that this would work. But I didn’t have time to think about how it would fail. I got the carrier out, put it on the porch and loaded it up with peanuts and blueberries. By this time, the squirrel had gone home and I waited on the porch to see if she would return. It was a matter of life or death. I’m not being dramatic – it really was. She came back, and got close enough to the carrier that I was able to push her in and shut the door. I called the woman and informed her that I was successful with the capture and I would be at her house within 20 minutes.
I expected the squirrel to get loose in my car and envisioned a horrific scene of torn upholstery, and a screaming driver with a squirrel on top of her head, but the squirrel was so good. She didn’t let out a peep and enjoyed the ride.
We got to the woman’s house, which is where she runs the rehab for wild animals, and I gave her my friend Ma’am.
I called the next day and inquired about my squirrel‘s face. Apparently, she had two pockets of infection. One had popped with some antibiotic treatment, but the other one needed more time. Ma’am was there nearly a month. I called every day, wanting to know how she was and if she could come home yet.
The woman was astonished that I would want to bring her home because usually people drop off wildlife and the woman releases them into the woods behind her house. But that’s not how I work. The squirrel lives here. She has a nest and a family and friends and a life here.
Remarkably, she got better. She never stopped growling at the woman who was helping her, but she became well enough to be released back to me. I was thrilled. I drove over to pick her up sometime around Christmas. She was quiet all the way home. I let her out of the box on the porch, where she usually eats, and she needed a few days to familiarize herself with her homebase. She came back in a few days, hungry and looking for snacks. I was worried she wouldn’t be as tame with me or as friendly, but I was worried for nothing. But I also didn’t want her to be as tame with me, I wanted her to have natural instincts to stay away from humans and to keep her wits about her out in the wild. 
As I compose this, it is May 9th, and I haven’t seen Ma’am in a few days, but that doesn’t really mean anything. A few times I haven’t seen her for a couple of weeks and she shows up unannounced. But once she’s here, everyone else must leave. She won’t have it any other way. (I have never seen an animal – besides my own cat, Susie – with such a will to live. I’m not sure what power charges that squirrel to keep living, but for Susie, I know it is love.)
Her face has healed up quite a bit since she got home, and although it may never be perfect, I tried my best to help an animal who badly needed it. I don’t regret anything, and I would do it all over again, even if the squirrel didn’t live.
Oh, there is a slight debate going on about whether the squirrel is a male or a female, although I’m almost 100% positive she’s a girl. I do know the squirrel growls at everyone and anything except me. She will fight off three other squirrels while she is eating walnuts (this is how a squirrel ends up with two pockets of infection on her face…). And I could swear I’ve seen her in previous summers with babies, but just in case, her name is Ma’am/Mr. Ma’am. It’s not important to me if the squirrel is a boy or a girl. What is important to me is that I help the helpless. I had to do it. She sought me out for help, and I couldn’t say no. I wouldn’t say no. So I said yes, and now I frequently have performative art on my front porch, which does include a sploot or two. May we all find kindness when we desperately need it. May we all be kindness when others need it. May we take refuge in the solace of nature when everything feels heavy and impossible. The animals are worth it. And the trees are worth it too, but that’s another post.
Ma’am under the cherry treeAlmonds are hard. 1/10. Splootin’ on a hot day Living her best life
“It's Amy,” I said. 