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| Pete at Fifteen |
Do you remember when you first learned to read? Or write? Or ride a bike? Or anything that you can point back to that changed the course of your life? That opened your world? That upset the applecart in sometimes good or sometimes not so good ways?
That first one?
Fully disclosure, I do not remember many of the life altering moments. Well, not the exact moments but certainly took in full measure of the changes, the shifts. I recall quite fondly the first time I rode a bicycle all by myself. I remember the first bike I received as a gift. I remember using those wheels, and my power churning those wheels to put some distance between home and the rest of the world.
Well, the neighborhood, at least.
One of the exact moments I remember is meeting Pete. And I remember bringing him home from the shelter. Pete, you see, was my first pet as an adult. Actually, the first cat....ever. My family owned dogs (many dogs) when I was growing up. My children didn't have pets as children.
So Pete checked many boxes with his presence.
Pete, like Buttah, were the pets, the cats I didn't think I wanted and certainly didn't think I needed.
I was wrong. Pete is exactly what my household needed at the time and is exactly right for the household now. He's a prince. He's not a cuddle puddle kind of cat and that is okay, I have understood that about him from the very beginning. I respect his boundaries. He loves that about me.
The other first I remember is the very first blog post on this space. I remember discovering blogs as I was discovering myself, as I was, in the word of former first lady, Michelle Obama, "becoming." I was living a shadow life, a shell of my actual self, going through the motions, keeping up appearances, following the path set out before me.
It would be some posts later before I actually uttered the words, that truth, the soul of me--that which others in my life report to have known, or had guessed to be true. It would be some 1,000 (plus) posts later that revealed other truths, insights, humors, highs, lows . . .
And loss.
Within these pages I talk about the loss of my mother, my father, the diva dog and the orange boy. Thanks to these pages I was comforted and supported. I have cherished the community that visited here and grateful for the bloggers who have shared their lives, journeys, insights, truths, highs, lows, and more. I cherish the friends made through blogging.
Like Pete, this space is fifteen years old this year. (Pete, 03/06 Middle Girl, 03/29)
Like I love the prickly Pete. I love this space even as the community at large has opted for other mediums or distanced themselves off the internet. I love what remains, I love what may be again someday. And even if it is never like it was, this space will remain a special repository for my thoughts, truths, joys, and pains.
I remain ever grateful for the readers, commenters, fellow bloggers, and friends.
May peace be with us all.
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| Dog With A Ball In The Creek |
