Sound of Change

You never know how much a sound affects you until it’s gone. You hear the same thing over and over that when it stops, you look for it.

For me, that sound is my cat’s collar. My putty tat of 18 years passed away a couple weeks ago. After she was gone, I wore her collar on my wrist in her memory. Unfortunately, I had to take it off. Every time it jingled, I found myself looking for her. I expected her to come trotting in the room, jumping on the bed, or simply being there. Her collar lives on my nightstand now and it’s strange for it to be so quiet.

The sound of the collar isn’t the only change in the house since my kitty cat passed away. All my routines are different. She used to wake me up, follow me to the bathroom, hangout while I got ready for work, watch shows with me, go to bed with me, steal my cheez-its, and share my ice cream. It’s strange how everything feels different with her gone, but I guess after 18 years you can expect that. She’s been around for more than half my life, if that tells you anything.

It makes me wonder what other noises, routines, or life moments change when loss is involved. Whether it’s an animal or a person. There’s change involved. It’s hard to adjust to and we try to fill the void with other things. Yet, nothing can replace the nose licks in the middle of the night or the way her fur shines in the sunlight.

I miss my pretty girl everyday and it’s still hard to believe she’s gone. Whatever you’re missing, whatever loss you’ve endured, you’re not alone in your grief. It’s a pain we all feel when loss rears its head. It’s how we know we loved and made a difference.

As an animal caretaker, I like to believe that the greater the pain in the loss of an animal, the greater the difference you made for that animal. I hope to build strong bonds with the animals I stand for, earn their trust, and help them enjoy life. If that means losing them causes me pain, then it’s worth it. I’ll feel like I accomplished my goal of making a difference.

That doesn’t mean the pain is easy. That doesn’t mean the change isn’t noticeable. The gap where they were is real and accepting it is difficult. Make sure you grieve. Make sure you take care. Let the loss run its course. Then, when you’re ready, get back up again. There are more differences to be made.

You can make a new, brighter sound of change.

Blast to the Past

About a week or so ago, I pulled out an old tub that was full of old school stuff. Mostly high school. It was all my notebooks, notes, some homework, old tests, articles, projects. Pretty much everything I ever collected throughout high school with a little bit of jr. high and elementary mixed in.

It ended up taking me over an hour to go through that one tub. A lot of it, I looked at and thought “why am I keeping this? I don’t care what grade I got on that history homework and I don’t really care about these notes from math.” I ended up recycling a lot of papers and trashing my old, fallen apart binders and folders.

Goodbye tests. Goodbye homework. Goodbye math notes.

Now, I probably could’ve kept my notes for reflection purposes. Reteach myself what I learned in school back then. Be the wiz I used to be, but let’s face it. I’m not going to go through the chemistry and biotechnology notes or reflect on the lab we did counting these little stem thingies on a plant. Sure, the anatomy stuff, I’ll probably save, but algebra’s gone out the door a long time ago.

I had several piles surrounding me as I went through this tub. Trash, recycle, undecided, keep, random non-school thing, etc. You want to know what ended up in my keep pile?

Art. Poems. Doodles. Creative writings I did outside of Class. And most importantly, the unused pages of the notebooks.

Looking through my school stuff, what I valued most was the creations I made instead of the knowledge I learned. I even got frustrated when flipping through my notebooks. I had some subject notebooks that were only used for a few pages or still had half the notebook unused. It drove under my skin that these perfectly good notebooks weren’t used all the way through because they contained school notes.

I like to say “There’s nothing scarier than a blank piece of paper,” because a blank piece of paper is untapped potential and these notebooks were full of them.

So, I ripped out the notes.

I took out every page that didn’t have something I cared about on it and fed those pages to the recycle bin. All that’s left of my school tub is a stack of art. The notebooks are sitting on my desk, ready to have purpose again.

Do you have anything from your high school days? Any notes or tests or projects you held onto? Why did you keep them? I thought it was interesting how I cared more about my doodles and creative writings than I did my notes. I’m sure there’s probably people out there who would be the opposite. Maybe some of you only kept one subject and trashed the rest?

Kind of a cool reminder that we’re all unique.

Heart of American Marching Band

I was going through old school stuff the other day and I found this former story I wrote. Based off true events. Please excuse the writing. I was but a wee freshmen.

09/30/10

“The band with the highest score in the 2nd division is!”
The announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium. Nikki squeezed her friends’ hands. This is it, she thought. She watched her drum majors on the field below with bated breath. Did we beat the other schools?

It was the Heart of America competition at the University of Kansas, KU. Marching bands from across the midwest came to compete. Nikki played the flute. It was her first year marching with it out on the field and she enjoyed it a lot more than she thought she would. She glanced over at the other schools in her district: the hawks, the ravens, and the falcons. So often, she felt they looked down on her school of eagles. The ‘getto’ of the city was what they were nicknamed, she hoped this competition could turn it around.

Hand in hand, each eagle in Nikki’s band waited with bated breath as the announcer drew out his pause. “We sacrificed so much,” Nikki whispered. “Worked so hard.”

“The winners are the hawks from Overthere High School!”

Shock slapped Nikki in the face. Her friends beside her froze as one of the other schools roared with cheered. Disappointed settled like a blanket on the eagles.

One of Nikki’s friends shook her head. “I don’t understand. I was sure it would’ve been us.”

Nikki frowned and stepped up on the bleacher seat in front of her. The hawks were jumping up and down on their section of the bleachers, instruments raised in the air, and laughter on their faces. Nikki clenched her fist. Out of the four schools from her district, the hawks were the most stuck-up. The most boastful about all the competitions they won. “Just wait.” She turned to her friends. “They couldn’t have beaten us by that much. So, just wait for the next competition. We’ll wipe the field with them.”

In the KU competition, the hawks beat the eagles by a mere .5 points. They faced each other again a month later. This time, the eagles became Grand Champions by beating the hawks by a full 7 points. They brought home pride for their school and burned the fires of rivalry that much hotter between them and hawks. Until the next competition, we bid ado.

Was today typical?

Date: 7/31/2023

I have not laughed at a writing prompt for a good while. Go figure, today–of all days–this would be the question. The answer:

Absolutely not.

I had such high hopes for the day. I was going to get things done. Then, around 9 o’clock a curveball big enough to fit in the palm of my hand blows all my plans away. It wasn’t a bad curveball. In fact, it was cause for celebration, but it was one of those days where I was finally at a place where I could take care of what I needed to do, but not anymore.

So, what do you do when a curveball smacks you in the face? I’ve learned for a long time now that you can’t expect things to go according to plan. It’s good to have a plan, but when the plan goes off the rails, you can’t allow yourself to get bent out of shape about it. When my curveball was thrown, I waved goodbye to most of my plans and shifted gears to the new priority. Some of the stuff I wanted to get done still got done, so my plans weren’t a total loss. Overall, I’d say the day was a success.

If you find yourself with a not-so-typical day, I hope you see the positive that comes out of it. If plans get ruined, or curveballs get thrown at you left and right, I hope you keep swinging, because even a wild swing can hit a homerun.

Willowtrix; Reason to Dream

The sun sank low over the little village of Tree Garden. Willowtrix flew down the forest path a little lower than normal.

Today sucked.

He couldn’t shake the bitter self doubt that weighed his wings. It had been just another day working the Apple Orchard. Another day picking apples with his best friend, Vinifree. Yet, the only conversation today was Egriton’s open managing position. While they were picking, at the spring where the workers took their break, and during lunch. All anyone–especially Vinifree–could talk about was the open position. Vinifree interviewed for it, and rumor was she was the only one that wanted it. She’s gonna get it, Willowtrix told himself. It’s her dream job, why wouldn’t she get it? When they were kids, Vinifree always got distracted when they got close to the orchard. The adventures they went on were always cut short because she would rather stare at the orchard instead of chase down imaginary bandits.

Willowtrix slumped. “I’m happy for her. I really am.” Yet, the weight on his wings wouldn’t go away. Vinifree found her calling. She was following her passion, but him?

The solid shoulder of a burly faun knocked Willowtrix off his flight path. He let out a grunt and flexed his wings to catch himself in the air. When he looked up at who he hit, he flinched.

Lunber the lumberjack and oldest son of the village elder scowled down at Willowtrix. He crossed his furry arms and a sigh as rough as tree bark escaped his throat. “Willowtrix, don’t tell me you’re flying around in a daydream again. You fairies can fly anywhere and yet you choose to fly at the height of us fauns?”

Willowtrix brushed his brown hair behind his ear. A pit opened in his stomach and increased the weight on his wings. “S-sorry, I was…I was, uh…lost in thought.”

Lunbar stuck his square jaw up in the air. “Not with one of those ridiculous stories of yours, I hope. Don’t you realize there’s no profit in that? I was told about the open position at the orchard. You should go for it. The extra coin would help your mother.”

Willowtrix pulled his gaze downward. The pit in his stomach hardened over. I’m so sick of hearing about that position. Yet, he swallowed down his bitterness. “Vinifree is going for it. I…I wouldn’t want to upset her by going for it too.” It was an easy lie. One that worked well on everyone at the orchard, but Lunbar’s deepening scowl told Willowtrix the faun didn’t believe him.

“You can’t chase some silly dream about telling stories. If you think that’s what supported Alderheart through the years, you’re wrong. Stop chasing fantasties and grow some sense. You’ve got a good job at the orchard. You can grow there and get the coin to get your mother the help she needs. When are you going to see that?”

Willowtrix couldn’t look Lunbar in the eye. A knot twisted in his heart. Anger burned within him, but guilt threatened to drown him. Lunbar was making the same point as every other resident of Tree Garden. Willowtrix tightened his fists. “I have to go.” He darted around Lunbar and flew off down the path to hide the tears betrayed in his eyes. Lunbar didn’t say anything, but Willowtrix heard his disappointed sigh.

He made it to the tree knot he called home as fast as he could. It was a humble little place on the outskirts of the village. No fauns lived below them, but a few other fairy families lived a couple trees away. It was nice and quiet. What Willowtrix’s mother needed.

Willowtrix leaned against the door after entering his home. The cozy and warm hollow didn’t bring the same sense of peace he usually felt when coming home. It’s all that talk, Willowtrix told himself. Of Vinifree achieving her dream.

“Willowtrix?” A weak cough came from the bedroom. “Is that you?”

Willowtrix quieted at the sound of his mother’s voice. She sounds weaker than this morning. He took a moment to let out a sorrowful sigh before masking his face with a smile. Willowtrix fluttered over the front room furniture and landed promptly in the doorway to the bedroom. “Mother,” he smiled at her. “How was your day?”

The beige light that illuminated from his mother brightened when she spotted him. She laid on her side in the bed, one arm resting under her head and her other weakly reached for him. Rings sunk under her eyes from an illness no one could explain. Willowtrix’s heart cracked at her motion and he walked over to kneel beside the bed. “Are you feeling any better?”

“The pain lessens when you’re here.” She cupped his cheek and love replaced the woe in her eyes. “Did you have a good day? Tell me, has Vinifree gotten the position yet?”

Willowtrix laid his hand on hers. “They haven’t announced anything. I think they’re waiting for the right time. There’s a new rumor we might strike a deal with a shop in Flora to sell our apples there too.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Flora? Already? Didn’t the orchard already strike a deal with a shop in Dira?”

Willowtrix nodded. “Last year and Dira’s a bigger city. I think the orchard owners want to make the announcement for the position when they strike a deal with Flora. That way, there’s lots of good news going around.” Willowtrix shrugged. “I know they’ll pick Vinifree.”

“She deserves it.” His mother adjusted so she sat up further. “That girl loves the orchard. No one else will take care of it better.”

Willowtrix absently nodded. “I’m happy for her.”

“My son.” A sterner tone crossed his mother’s voice. Willowtrix flicked his wings when he met her knowing look. “Your eyes tell me something’s bothering you. What is it?”

Willowtrix sighed. As much as he tried to be strong for her, she could always see right through him. He shifted and leaned against the bed, taking her hand. “I ran into Lunbar.”

She huffed. “That thickheaded brute? What did he say this time? That you should have gone for the position? Pish posh. That faun doesn’t know how to see beyond his own eyesight.”

Willowtrix glanced away. “He had a point, though. If I got the position, I could better care for you.”

“Now, you listen to me, Willowtrix. You weren’t put on this world to look after me. I’ll be–” She cut off with a coughing fit.

Willowtrix helped her sit up then fetched a glass of water. “I need to look after you.” He helped place the glass down once her breathing eased. “What will I have if I don’t have you?”

“You’ll have your stories.” She smiled softly and pointed right at his chest. “And your dream. You’ve got such a wonderful talent, Willowtrix. It makes you happy and that’s all I want for you.”

Willowtrix shook his head. He sat down on the bed beside her. “It’s not practical.”

“So what?” She squeezed his hand. “Better to be rich in heart than rich in hand.” When Willowtrix smiled she slunk down into the blankets of the bed. “Tell me one of your stories.”

Willowtrix rubbed the back of his head, his wings fluttering. “I dunno.”

“Come now,” she teased. “You can’t tell me you don’t have a new one you want to try out. Who better to tell it to than me?”

Willowtrix chuckled. He pulled his legs on the bed to sit cross-legged. She used to be the one telling him stories. He was all tucked in bed and ready to hear her next adventure. There was nothing more calming than their glow warming the darkening night. “Alright, then.” He took a deep breath and his lips stretched to a smile at the thought of telling his newest tale. “Once upon a time…”

Never Ending Argument

When doubt says I’m not good enough,
I remind it of what I accomplished.

When grief weighs like iron on my heart,
I remind it I’m never alone.

When gossip tries to break my trust,
I remember how much we need grace.

When mistakes say I can’t be redeemed,
I tell it each day is new.

When anger busts down the door,
I take a breath to block it from others.

When stress piles on the tasks,
I take it a step at a time.

When worry whistles like the wind,
I whisper it’ll be alright.

When fraud tells me I’m a fake,
I remind it that passion’s enough.

When anxiety creeps up the alley,
I hold a hand to confidence again.

Whenever I get down and life gets hard,
I remember this isn’t the end.

If you’re like me, you’re haunted by a lot of shadows that stalk around every corner. Each one ready to hit you with depression and knock you down to ruin your stride. It’s goal is to get in your head. To keep you down so you can’t do any good for those around you or follow the purpose planned for you. You can’t let it win. You have to fight back with all you have because the world would be duller without you.

You’re not alone
You’re not a mistake
You’re strong
You’re capable
You’ve got a beauty unique to you
Don’t ever give up or give in to the Dark
Keep shining and learn to love you

Oreo’s Poem

If love kept you alive,
you would live forever.
I’m not ready to say goodbye.
Not now, not ever.

If I had my say.
You wouldn’t go away.
You’d stay healthy and strong.
And be right where you belong.

You wouldn’t get leaky.
You wouldn’t get creaky.
You wouldn’t grow gray.
Or start welcoming the grave.

We’d have many more cuddles.
And lots more nose nuzzles.
I’d hold you at night.
And we’d both sleep tight.

No cat in the world is better than you.
You were always there whenever I was blue.

Eighteen years.
A blessing every one.
Even those nights you were yowling before the sun.

Such adventures. Such scents. What a life that you had.
And I’ve got thousands of pictures–I might add.
Eighteen years. You got to do so much.
Hunt birds, explore woods, and come to accept touch.

You’ll never read this poem.
You don’t understand most words.
You understand actions, motions, and purrs.

But I hope that you know.
Before you finally go.
How much I truly love you so.

My love, my Wildheart, my precious putty tat.
You’re the best cat there is.
And that’s that.

I Often Wonder

Do animals feel love?
Could a pet ever tell you?
Do they truly want to be around you?

Are we more to them
Than fresh food and shelter
It’s this question I often wonder

Can a dog show love?
Or a cat appreciation?
Do they know you love them?
And hold admiration?

What’s at their end?
Our pets, I mean.
A journey to heaven?
Adrift? Set free?

I wish I could know
If I’ll see them when I go
To the end of that rainbow road

To love an animal so much
Your heart breaks at their absence
To see them again and all their old habits

I often wonder to think
Where they go when they’re gone
Especially when I’m not ready to move on

But for now, hold tight
Hope they know they’re loved
Cuddle them at night
Because they’re gifts from above

The Forest

Have you ever looked up through the trees

And saw the way the light dapples off the leaves?

Have you ever been out on a stroll

And felt the breeze as a gentle roll?

A forest path. It’s own magic world.

With glimmering pebbles shining like pearls.

The towering trees. So sturdy and strong.

Standing like castles that came from songs.

A trickling creek or river running through.

Bringing with it life. Making everything new.

Let’s not forget the critters in store.

Running along that old forest floor.

Squirrels and chipmunks. A prancing doe.

And turkeys that gobble wherever they go.

Such life in a forest. Such beauty to see.

As long as you try it. Find peace. Maybe glee?

Whatever the time. Whatever the adventure.

The forest is there to help us remember.

Each part of life. Beginning to end.

Has a way to come around again.

Saplings from decay. Leaf litter as a nest.

The forest knows “waste not” is best.

I hope you’ll take time. One day or another.

To come see the forest like you’re visiting your brother.

Come see the leaves as they dapple above.

Come see how a forest shows love.

Beauty in the Damage

I was scrolling through the photos on my computer the other night and I came across the one you see featured in this post. I took that photo in college. This photo is a of a little 2″x2″ metal square I was to use in a lab experiment for one of my classes. I don’t remember anything about the lab. I can’t even tell you what class this was for. I don’t know what type of metal this square was made out of. I just know, this little square was involved and I was absolutely in love with it.

What’s on the square is rust. It’s damaged–and rightly so with all the experiments it went through. It’s probably not worth anything. If it wasn’t used for this experiment, it would likely get thrown away. Yet, I placed high value on it. Why?

Because of the damage.

Take a look to really view the photo. Look at the way the damage is patterned out. They almost look like stars in a cosmic cloud or cells bumping into each other or even flowers growing in a field. They’re messy and tangled and the hues of reddish-brown span the spectrum. You can’t see it from the photo, but when I shifted the way light hit that metal square, it came alive. The silver lining in the rust spots amplified the damage like beams of magic bursting forth. I saved these photos because I wanted to replicate the pattern in a painting. I haven’t done it yet, but someday, I will.

If you put this damaged square next to a shiny new one, one that is perfect and reflective, and bright, I would still pick the damaged one. It has character. It has a story. It’s been through some things and it’s still strong.

So, if you’re ever feeling damaged or covered in rust, I hope you’ll remember this little square. There’s beauty there even if you can’t see it.