Powder

Has anyone seen this cat?

Seriously, anyone? Anywhere? Because we haven't. For nearly a month.

I don't know exactly when the cat who is old enough to drive slid into the darkness of the night unauthorized, but he did. Powder, the very large, very white cat slipped out of the house and hasn't returned.

For nearly a month.

We know what it means, and when I say "we" I do include Alexis, but how do you grieve a very old (seriously -- he was born in 1995), very particular cat who could very well suddenly show up on the porch, pissed off that you left a door open wide enough for him to run through it?

For the record, Powder's method for dealing with his feelings when he's pissed off is to, well, piss on. Literally. He pees on things like dirty clothes left on a floor or rugs or curtains when he's mad at us.

How do you grieve a cat who has spent the past three years mad? I should confess that he has been justifiably mad for three years. First we moved, then he lost his best friend who he had been with his entire life, somewhere in there new puppies invaded and sucked the joy out of his life, and I won't even bother to mention his feelings about new cats who were not Coal. He tolerated Max and Ali, but it was that sort of tolerated that you expect from a grandfather who sits on his porch and pauses for a second before wailing "Get off my lawn, you whippersnappers!" as he waves his cane in the air.

So Powder is gone and we don't know whether we should be sad or scared that he will return and make us pay for our sins.

It really could go either way.

So Long, 2012

"2012 needs to just end already."

"This has been the worst year ever."

"2013 can't possibly be as bad as 2012."

And on and on and on. It seems that a lot of people felt that 2012 was a brutal bitch who punched them in the face repeatedly. I had to fight the urge to prove that I could win the Misery War.

If you've been around, you know. If you haven't, so what? What difference does it make that I paid my dues and then I paid it again and then I paid it some more? Let's just throw some confetti in the air and call it a pity party and waaaah. waaaah. waaaaaaaaaah.

At the end of it all, none of it matters. It wasn't the calendar or the date or the number 2012 that was devastating and hurtful and mean. It was the things that happened here and there. It was the sequence of completely unrelated events that piled on and on ...

... and that danced an intricate ballet with The Other Things.

 

The silliness.

The celebrations.

The frolicking.

The thoughtfulness.

The new friends cherished.

The old friends enjoyed.

The magic discovered.

The eyes that knew where to find it.

The fun frozen.

And the fun picked.

The mischief.

The mayhem.

The life lived out loud.

The life lived louder.

The lessons learned silently.

The questions asked loudly.

The joy delivered.

The curiousity satisfied.

And the smiles for miles.

2012 had ... its moments. They weren't all good, but there were good ones to be found. I just had to go looking.

I could fight the Misery War, or I can win the Joy War.

I choose joy.

Hanging Out With Polar Bears

Once the confetti has fallen and the party horns are silenced, there is but one thing to do on New Years.

Sleep.

Glorious sleep.

But for some reason I keep finding myself chasing the rabbit and falling down the hole.

I think it's because I'm addicted to happiness.

For the past I-don't-know-how-many years, I have risen before the roosters on New Years Day and trudged through wet and snow and misery to stand at the side of the river and wait for crazy to happen.

Wearing shorts when there's snow on the ground is about as crazy as it gets, I suppose.

WAIT.

I do believe there is one thing crazier -- jumping off of a perfectly nice sidewalk into 37 degree water. THAT is crazier.

By the way, in that photo just up there, she's saying exactly what you think she's saying. And yet ...

Once the initial shhhhh...ugarploozleflarp wears off, the people who gather at the river on New Years Day just to jump in the frigid water always come up smiling.

Every freakin last one of them.

I still don't get it, but I most certainly get it.

Pittsburgh's Polar Bear Plunge most certainly is a fantastic way to start the year.

Congrats to yinz who conquered the cold this year, especially to those of you who have been doing it for years and years.