My mother was a quiet person who had a droll Midwesterner's sense of humor; she was very loving to the babies in her life, and that meant nearly all of God's creatures if they didn't have to be eating her garden for their livelihood! She did draw one line through that conviction, outside of the insects she killed with wild abandon, and that was that she kept farm animals for eating and didn't want us making pets of them. We, of course, did anyway.
I learned to stick with the non-edible pets after a favorite runt rabbit that I loved so much was dispatched without regard for his special status as MY black bunny, and I came home to find that they had saved his skin for me. I still have it, though it is so agéd now as to be turning to dust.
Mother had an eye for beauty and the heart of an artist, but like most people impacted by the trail of Greed that Europe was enduring and which eventually became WWII, she didn't get a chance to express it. She did however, take a pen she used for school penmanship and refashion it into a pen for pen and ink. I used it for Pen and Ink and, with a wider nib, for very delicate Scraffito on porcelain beads. I found the pen in her things after she died in 1984.
Wolfie Report: He is recovering, and his belly has stopped being swollen up. Who would think a dog could expand that much? I guess he will continue to recover and to be fine again until a weekend when his vet isn't available.
I'm sort of joking but it does raise a little PANIC in my brain when that thought runs through it! The scary part of all of this is that we finally found the lost thermometer, but it was broken in two, and under the bed where Wolfie dives for safety in times of "fight or flight". We thought he'd maybe gotten a hold of it, and bitten it in two, but we did not know. Actually, the thing showed no evidence that he'd even messed with it, and all the mercury was still inside it.
Then we thought, or at least I did, "does he have the dread Torsion?" since I'm typically calm outside while inside am lurching madly toward thinking of every horror and disaster, one after the other and in technicolor, that has befallen man or beast in the whole of history. That is truth and not hyperbole.
Anyway, he is getting much better now that what ever it was seems to be going away. This whole strange, periodic illness of his is akin to the canker sore that drives a person mad with pain for 10 days and then goes back underground until next time.
I learned to stick with the non-edible pets after a favorite runt rabbit that I loved so much was dispatched without regard for his special status as MY black bunny, and I came home to find that they had saved his skin for me. I still have it, though it is so agéd now as to be turning to dust.
Mother had an eye for beauty and the heart of an artist, but like most people impacted by the trail of Greed that Europe was enduring and which eventually became WWII, she didn't get a chance to express it. She did however, take a pen she used for school penmanship and refashion it into a pen for pen and ink. I used it for Pen and Ink and, with a wider nib, for very delicate Scraffito on porcelain beads. I found the pen in her things after she died in 1984.
Wolfie Report: He is recovering, and his belly has stopped being swollen up. Who would think a dog could expand that much? I guess he will continue to recover and to be fine again until a weekend when his vet isn't available.
I'm sort of joking but it does raise a little PANIC in my brain when that thought runs through it! The scary part of all of this is that we finally found the lost thermometer, but it was broken in two, and under the bed where Wolfie dives for safety in times of "fight or flight". We thought he'd maybe gotten a hold of it, and bitten it in two, but we did not know. Actually, the thing showed no evidence that he'd even messed with it, and all the mercury was still inside it.
Then we thought, or at least I did, "does he have the dread Torsion?" since I'm typically calm outside while inside am lurching madly toward thinking of every horror and disaster, one after the other and in technicolor, that has befallen man or beast in the whole of history. That is truth and not hyperbole.
Anyway, he is getting much better now that what ever it was seems to be going away. This whole strange, periodic illness of his is akin to the canker sore that drives a person mad with pain for 10 days and then goes back underground until next time.
That's a beautiful story about your mom. How cool that you found her pen again after she was gone. I'll bet that is a special treasure for you to have!
ReplyDeleteHi Rabia, and I do treasure it. It's a school pen from somewhere in the late 20's, before everything went bust on Wall Street. I think my grandfather,who never went to school past 14 years old, was able to teach his young daughters penmanship while they were all on the road after the crash. More about all that later. Mother remembers it as being fun.
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