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Wednesday, December 2, 2009


nightblooming sirius
Thinking about Jr recently, I've come to think of his present absence the way I think of my friends I don't see for several years. I know they're there, they know I'm here, all we need to do is pick up the phone and we don't. Then one day it happens. I'm feeling like Jr is where he is and I'm where I am. We can't get together in the same dimension to look out the window at the raincrow chasing a crow, pecking feathers out of its back, and laugh at the pesky raincrow. There's no phone line. He's just not in sight. I believe his spirit lives on, so he's just someplace else, another dimension, whatever it is. He's over yonder.

Death doesn't mean to me what it used to. The shrouded grim reaper with the scythe going about taking people he's sent to find in their time is a cartoon depiction of that which cannot be pictured. I tend to see death is nothing but the soul shedding a body like taking off clothes. I imagine a soul is relieved of bearing the weight and happy for it, like a medieval knight stepping out of a suit of armor. The ultimate relaxation. Shed of the weight and the distractions of the senses, the mind, the soul can shake off that involvement with a body. It probably takes a little while for the soul to get used to its new circumstances.

TarBaby is in one of his private places meditating now like he did in the cage round the clock for 3 weeks. He may go on creating solitude for himself. He seems to like it. I'm glad I went to visit him every day. There was no drastic change for him coming home. I kept him in touch with home every day, and he didn't seem to mind confinement so much. I'm loving TarBaby as much as I can, holding him, petting him, talking to him, opening a can of tuna for him, giving him attention. I wonder if his mystery malady might be connected with anxiety and loneliness. Tar was back on my bed last night to sleep. I was glad, because if he really does pick up energy from me, I want him close by. I aim to love him back to wellness.

This tells me about TarBaby he may not have a great deal of time left. If I hadn't turned him over to the vet, he'd have died probably that day. If I'm buying time for him getting him shot up with antibiotics that did help a very great deal, good. I'm glad I'm able to. TarBaby is too good a cat to lose at the same time Jr went away. Curiously, they're natured quite a lot alike. It seems like goddess is with me, as I'm in such a nurturing mode and have been for some time. Keeping Jr comfortable in his helpless time and loving TarBaby back to life. This is a nurturing time. Caterpillar and Tapo need their nurturing too.

Nurturing energy is a healing energy, so I'm pouring it on with TarBaby, giving him the attention he missed for three weeks. Every time he acts like he wants to eat, I put something before him. This evening I was putting my meal on a plate, a meal brought home from the Chinese take-out place in town. TarBaby wanted some rice. I put some on his plate and he ate it. I've been nurturing myself the last weeks with Chinese cooking. A box of rice and a box of the other, whichever I pick from a dozen or so mixes of vegetables and meat and seafood, they make two meals. I've been going there every other day for a few weeks. I love the new flavors and new aromas.

Yesterday I treated myself to a pound of Kenyan coffee. Never had it before. Isak Dinesen's book, Out of Africa, is her life on a coffee plantation in Kenya. Lucas Pasley is grinding different coffees now and selling them by the pound. I wanted to try Kenyan first thing. I don't care for all the Starbucks fancy coffees with whipped cream on top and this and that candification. I like, however, having access to coffee from Kenya, right here in Sparta. Made two cups yesterday afternoon. Think I made it a little thin. Made 3 cups this morning and think these turned out a little thick. Tomorrow morning I'll perhaps find the balance where it's just right to my taste.

Already, both thin and thick, I have a good idea of its flavor and texture. It has a smooth texture, if that can be imagined. I've not tasted any coffee like it, experienced only with South American coffees, and not many of them. I've been drinking tea as long as I've lived in the mountains. Started drinking coffee at Jr's with Jean. Then just kept it up when she shed the body. At Jr's I drank Folger's Columbian. I wanted to try coffee from another continent. And our President is half Kenyan with a Kenyan name.

I'm nurturing myself with good Chinese food and Kenyan coffee, which I like as much as the Chinese food. I've not had Chinese in close to 10 years.
The people in the place before looked so catatonically depressed I felt like it could be called Zombie Kitchen. I didn't want to eat food prepared by such incredibly depressed people. It kind of gave me the creeps. Chinese are good at being depressed. Chinese have had a rough road for a long time. I believe the energy of the cook goes into the food. The ideal is food cooked and served with love. The very best. Since we're in between, the people in the restaurant now appear upbeat in their own selves. I like the feeling in the place. I love driving back to the house with the aroma of good Chinese food in the car.

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