Transformation

Pam’s Pictorama Post: The last of the Mom posts today, for now anyway.

It is Thursday night and I am back in New Jersey. I worked remotely today and will spend tomorrow preparing for a repast for mom on Saturday – 40-50 people over several hours stopping by to chat and have a nosh. The resident cats are surrounding and circling me endlessly since my arrival last night.

Since my mom died almost three weeks ago I seem to live in a state that is strangely and endlessly anxious. I think it is a constant unconscious feeling that I am forgetting to check on her nagging at the back of my mind. Also a terrible sense of always feeling like I am in the wrong place, a perpetual fish out of water. Being back at the house has eased this slightly, perhaps because I am here with the specific mission of getting ready to receive people on Saturday. Or maybe it is being here and forcing my brain and subconscious to accept that mom is no longer here to be cared for.

*Stormy, dubbed Cat of Mystery by me, is starting to get a bit more social. She also likes to sit in the window.*

Friday and a day of cleaning, shopping and cooking. I thought the house had been deep cleaned right after mom died, but friends showed up today and cleaned some more in preparation for tomorrow. Many hands did make for lighter work and the care of all these women surrounds me in a way that makes me feel like a kid again. In the process of the many cleanings and work that has been done the house is slowly becoming more of a home again, the bed no longer in the kitchen, the roar of the oxygen tank with the cord I was always afraid of tripping over gone.

A certain Pam-ness is starting to exert itself undeniably. Paintings brought up from the basement where they were in exile for some reason. A litany of small repairs are being made. I am having the black front door painted red, just for fun. Circus lights now festoon the back deck. Making it my own was what mom wanted and I believe she approves.

The garden is blooming early this year. Although mom never was able to set foot in it she enjoyed greatly it from the windows and via a series of recordings made for her to celebrate each phase of each season. She’d watch these again and again and share them with friends and family. (Here is a video from last spring that is still up.) Everyone remarks on the beauty of the backyard.

The peonies I gave her several years ago are already bursting as are her roses. Mom was good with roses in an effortless way. Did she just know good spots for them? I never remember her fussing over them especially. My nascent herb garden and tomato plants are slowly gaining traction. A dahlia is shooting up in a planter. Unclear though if I have inherited the green thumb or just having some beginners luck as well as guidance from gifted gardening friends.

Tomorrow some family and a number of her friends will raise a glass to her and nibble on vast piles of fruit salad, cheese sandwiches and cupcakes we purchased and assembled today.

Sunday. Well, it rained hard all day. I said it was because mom was looking on and was worried about the cats getting out with people coming and going. Kim showed up early and was introduced to Hobo who received his third meal of the day from him. That cat must have a hollow leg.

*Hobo on meal number one of three yesterday, at about 6:30 AM.*

The plant people were all pleased about the rain as we haven’t had much and being plant people we walked out in the garden despite the rain. The animal folks were in a group talking about the rescue of a fawn that was unfolding and some left to go help with that. (Mom’s obit with information about her work in animal rescue and welfare can be found here.)

Family, caregivers and one of our neighbors all discovered people in common and mingled and marveled over the few degrees of separation that were unfolding as I guess they do in smallish towns. Like a wedding I don’t spend enough time with any one person while trying to get to all.

I woke up, exhausted this morning, back here in Manhattan, with Kim and cats. (It is Kim’s birthday – shout out to him! We sang a sloppy Happy Birthday over cupcakes to him at the end of the party yesterday.)

The eggshell this layer of protection I felt during mom’s last months has been broken and my time in that liminal space has ended. It’s a hard finding myself back out in the world again with new responsibilities as well as the old ones rushing back in. It is lonely without her, but she left me with new friends and renewed connections. I am so grateful for their ongoing ministrations. The page turns and the next chapter starts now.

Monmouth County Days

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: When this posts on Saturday I will be making my way to the cemetery to see my mom’s mortal remains off. So I apologize that this will be another brief and Pam-centric post.

As I write it is a dark and damp Thursday morning. Coffee is perking, cats have been fed. I woke at 3:00 and two of the cats strolled into my room and onto my bed to keep me company and fight for my attention. It did distract me from my fretting. Gus had the temerity to chase Beau’s tail!

I cut up a watermelon which has been sitting since before mom passed. A friend had brought it by for her. It’s more watermelon than I can eat so I will share it with friends to take home to their kids. After cooking for large numbers of people it is mostly just me now and the food production and consumption is amping way down except when folks stop by to check on me.

The various machinations of the week have taken me to some locales that I haven’t visited in decades and occasionally requiring amazing feats of memory as I take on the role of navigator for the folks kind enough to drive me on my various rounds.

For example near the funeral home was an ancient poultry farm where my parents used to stop for eggs on our way to or from my grandmother’s house. The friend who was driving me stopped to look at the plants that are now sold outside and the childhood memories flooded back. I probably have not stood in that driveway since I was 12 years old.

Another night someone took me out to dinner at Bahr’s Landing, a waterside seafood restaurant of my childhood. My last trip there was with my sister for my birthday, the year before she died, but it was a family favorite for special occasions as a kid and my late teens and early twenties saw many a late night at the outdoor clam shack for a late night snack and a beer. A week of This is Your Life style fascination.

*Extraordinary clouds over the water at Bahr’s Landing restaurant.*

Some days have seemed long and others zipped by. Uniformly the nights and early mornings (mom’s best time in recent years) have been difficult. The house itself seems to be in a gentle form of revolt starting with a series of roof leaks (which left me facing a very young man who attempted to sell me a new roof, but instead agreed to just overcharge me for what desperately needed to be done to stop the immediate water incursion) and followed by water in the basement as the result of a broken drainpipe.

*A farm stop in Holmdel where geraniums were procured.*

My bouts of manic energy have gone into cleaning and the redistribution of things no longer needed. It has also resulted in some gardening which seems to calm me down. Some of those efforts shown on the deck above, a new favorite spot.

After I get through tomorrow on Sunday I will head back to Manhattan and to the office on Monday. The shell will be thoroughly broken and back into the world I go.

Mourning in NJ

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: It is a morning of heavy mist to drizzle here in Monmouth County and like the day I am weeping on and off as mom died early yesterday morning. It is challenging my desire to go out for a run. (A violent stomach virus wiped me out for running starting last week and between mom and the weather I have not yet been able to return.) A half eaten yogurt in the fridge or a favorite purple pillow can send me boo hooing again.

*Undated Halloween photo of Mom, Dad, me and Loren.*

I have written about the time I have spent here in New Jersey caring for mom and the special space and time the bubble of her care created here. (A few of those posts can be found here and here.) However, in recent weeks she began to deteriorate at an alarming rate. She was determined that she would not leave the house so at times we struggled with limited options to relieve her trouble breathing and discomfort. I watched as her caregivers employed feats of engineering with pillows to maximize her comfort and ability to breathe. In the end we accomplished the feat of keeping her here and yet reasonably comfortable.

*The boy cats are assembled on mom’s chair this morning.*

We could not have wished for her to linger and suffer longer, but we were reluctant to let go nonetheless. I may write more about all of it at a future time but for now I am left wandering an empty house (if one can have five cats and call it lonely) after hosting a myriad of care givers, various house tradesmen and friends.

The reality of a house after living my entire adult life in one room, most recently spending all day and night in it with Kim and the cats throughout the pandemic. Although a small Cape Cod, I wander rooms now which seem too many and very quiet despite cats and televisions left on. I am used to either the bustle of our tiny apartment or nurses tucked into corners and recliner chairs here. I am comforted by the site of the flowers recently placed in planters on the deck and have moved my computer from the upstairs office to the kitchen where the cats are gathered on my mother’s chair. I think my friend had that in mind when she encouraged me to plant them recently.

*Beau was mom’s most special friend and he is guarding me and the chair now.*

So today I am just writing because I know my consistent (and wonderful) readers know I never miss a post and I did yesterday. I had been up since midnight the prior night and exhaustion permeated a day that was busy by necessity. Today I hope to start gathering my wits and thoughts and organizing the next chapter here.

Sowing

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: These are strange days for me as spring arrives in New Jersey this year. I am here for a stay of indeterminate length during what appears to be my mother’s lingering last illness. I have written before about the sense of being in a liminal space – between two periods in my life that in many ways will define the before and the after. That sense has only increased recently as I perch on the threshold of this personal sized seismic shift.

*Helleborus is an early bloomer which deer are not fond of so it is all the talk of gardeners here right now.*

I miss my daily life in Manhattan: my husband, my cats, my bed (we have an unbelievably hard mattress), and I miss actually sitting down with my co-workers daily. Still, it is human nature to make things as pleasant as possible where we are and I have done this by largely by dint of cooking and running. (I have written about that previously in posts that can be found here and here.) Earlier this week a friend dropped flats of pansies off for me saying it was nice to do do something for the future and today I added planting to the list.

*My simple potting assignment, complete on the deck for all to admire.*

While I have been around a lot of gardening as an observer, I have in fact never gardened. I suppose this is not surprising given that I have lived my entire adult life in Manhattan without so much as a fire escape. Kim has a green thumb and under his casual attention plants do seem to thrive in our bright living room window. Still, if my ability to keep houseplants alive was anyway indicative of my ability say, to care for pets or people it would be a not-green thumbs down I am afraid.

However, in her day my mother was a superb gardener. One of my earliest memories is of a huge rock garden in the back of our house in North Jersey and watching her work in it, our cat and dog sniffing around. I must have been just three or four.

When I was a tad older we had moved to the shore and I can remember my mother coaxing vegetables and flowers out of the sandy and salty soil, and fighting a freakishly high water table. I had a child’s joy over the immensity of sunflowers which towered over us and tomato plants which delighted me . Laawn never interested mom and hers was nominal. (Dad traveled for work and never really had anything to do with the yard. Mom did it all.) She was and is all about plants and trees.

*Didn’t buy these sporty petunias with the stripes but was very tempted – I was very entertained by them.*

In the house subsequent to that one, but still on the waterfront the garden was somewhat more elaborate with herbs, strawberry and grapevines. Bunnies and squirrels helped themselves liberally to those edibles as well as dandelions and other delectables .

So earlier this week the same friend took me to Lowe’s where I assembled a cache of potting soil, a spade, some clippers and a lone adolescent tomato plant – Jersey tomatoes being a summer delicacy for this Jersey girl. Shop Rite (as big as several city blocks) produced a length of lightweight hose. The Dollar Tree provided some lightweight garden gloves. It seems I was ready to plant some pansies.

*Someone brought these by for mom and I am greatly enamored of the daffodils with the apricot centers!*

Luckily this project was pretty low stakes as said pansies were already in bloom and just pleading for soil and water, a straightforward assignment for the rookie me. However, the pots I thought I would use proved too small and too deep. Luckily rooting around in the basement coughed up some appropriate vessels. The nozzle on the new hose proved unexpectedly challenging I am somewhat embarrassed to admit, but we came to an agreement without my getting entirely soaked.

Somehow, all the plants found their way to pots, fit appropriately and were watered – which was good because the promised rain never showed. Mom was pleased with my efforts on behalf of the yard and a rakish stake with a whirligig red bird stuck in the tomato plant container for a finishing touch.

Cowgirl

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: This great photo postcard appealed to the latent cowgirl in me. I know very little about these things so I don’t know if this nice fringed outfit is real or costume – even her nifty boots have fringe. She wears it with aplomb and a good bit of attitude, riding crop in hand. Undeniably she is an indoor cowgirl here on a living room carpet and in front of a curtained window. Her kerchief and hat are both at jaunty angles.

While I have never been on horseback (nor have I ever resided on a farm, let alone a ranch) I had an early enthusiasm for a fantasy version of them as evidenced by my being an early and avid adopter of the Jane West toys.

There was something endlessly satisfying about the sturdy plastic, jointed limbs. She had a cowgirl outfit molded to her body and heavy rubbery accessories. She was made to stand with some authority (unlike my beloved Barbies who of course had feet designed for perpetual, fashionable high heels) and somehow the fact that she was cast entirely in blue plastic did not detract from her appearance. Jane had a wonderful palomino horse which she could sit astride on.

*Since I am not in NYC I cannot show my own example of Jane West, but instead this more complete one along with her horse!*

In my otherwise Barbie-oriented childhood it is a bit hard in retrospect to know what the cowgirl thing was about. Unlike Barbie’s adventures (my Barbie was named for Jo in Little Women and she was a globe trotting journalist), I do not remember the play I dreamed up for her.

Notably Jane did not need a cowboy equivalent of Ken, at least mine did not. In my world she stood on her own and didn’t even deign to date GI Joe – my Barbie’s fallback companion. I believe she is a head taller than both.

My mother was horse-y as a young woman. I am not sure how she started riding, but I know that not coming from a wealthy family she worked mucking stalls along with her childhood friend Jackie so they were able to ride. I gather Mom was mad about horses until one day while they were riding her friend was badly thrown onto a fence. Luckily for her the fence was old and just gave under her otherwise he back would have been broken. It left mom skittish about riding and although my older sister had a few desultory riding lessons I never had the chance to even start.

As a teenager a good friend gave me an excellent vintage Annie Oakley jacket of the softest butterscotch colored suede which she found in her attic. As a very little girls she and her mom had had matching jackets! It was much beloved by me and I wore it until it literally fell to pieces. This was perhaps my best personal cowgirl moment. It was as close as I was to come. (During the pandemic I also read all of the volumes of the Ranch Girls series. A post that touches on them can be found here.)

I came across a Jane West doll several years ago and snatched her up for my toy collection. It felt good to have Jane in the house again and she lives on my shelf, ever ready for some cowgirl action.

The Blue Pots of Spring

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: I recently wrote a post about how I was cooking a lot here in New Jersey during this long spring of my mom’s illness. (That post can be found here.) My mom never cooked in this kitchen and basic cooking implements needed to be purchased once I wanted to do more than make coffee. (I purchased a good coffee pot, a stovetop percolating coffee pot first thing.) So, a slow process of knives here, a colander there, a skillet. I cook for as many as four or five people at a time so there has also been food buying – with food buying I have needed to purchase basic spices and herbs. This New Jersey enclave is robustly supplied with a variety of discount stores – Dollar Tree, Home Goods, Job Lots, Marshalls. (There is a Shop Rite the size of several city blocks. Land of wonders.)

*A too small blue for the front. Will hold herbs on the back deck instead.*

The blue ceramic pots first caught my eye at a local farmer’s market turned gourmet store called Sickles. In a number of shapes and sizes the glowing blue glaze caught my eye, but endless expenses helping my mom out discouraged me from high end planters. Still, I started seeing them appear on front porches on my runs in the morning. There was no doubt, beautiful blue pots were following me.

*Blue pots from a run – they were starting to follow me.*

One day, while hunting down a cookie sheet in Home Goods for roasted vegetables, I was greeted by a pile of these wonderful blue pots and for a tiny fraction of the price. No two were alike so I chose two and brought them home only to realize that one is too small for that job. On my next trip I bought another larger one and placed it with the other, on each side of the front steps.

Later I added a yellow one to contrast with the blues. The smaller blue pot and another yellow one (with bees on it) will go on the back porch. The woman at the register during the first purchase spontaneously offered, “Great deal! You’ll never get them for that price at Sickles!” Which made me laugh – small town indeed.

*The other side of the front door sports a yellow pot too.*

It is too early to plant in them, but I am already thinking red flowers like geraniums would be cheerful and a nice contrast. The ones for the back deck will likely be planted with herbs to further aide in cooking – although I am looking forward to a container or two of tomatoes too. All will have to be hardy to survive the times when I am not here during the hot summer and the nibbling bunnies, groundhogs, deer and the like.

Under the watchful eye of my mom from the house, the yard has gone from neglected and bereft to beautiful with the help of a long time gardener, a fellow named Mike. With his help I gave my mother a weeping cherry tree and a magnolia tree a few years ago as I saw so many lovely ones here in the spring. This is the first year they look like more than brave little sticks. Mom’s enjoyment of the yard is limited to photos and videos of it but not at all less for that and hopefully my few additions will make her happy too.

Pizza Please

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: It’s a food post today, This childhood photo of me at an early birthday party of mine – maybe fifth grade? I am the birthday girl in light blue and to one side of me are twins, Beverly and Beth Bruckmann, the girl standing I believe was named Lisa. I don’t think I can confirm many others – I believe it is my sister Loren’s head we see in the upper left and just below her may have been a neighbor, Sally Jacques. The blonde girl wearing the party hat might be her sister Karen – their other sister Buffy was my bestie at the time but not shown here. Sorry other blond girl seated next to me, I cannot remember even a hint of your name.

This was taken on a wonderful four seasons porch/room my parents added onto the back of this tiny Cape Cod house. It had slate floors and windows all around with a river view. It was the very favorite and most used room in the house except for in the dead of winter or very stormy days when it tended to be chilly.

As evidenced here, pizza has long been a ubiquitous Butler family food and we are selective about it! About a week ago my mom, who can rarely be coaxed into a few mouthfuls of solid food these days, surprised us by consuming a slice fresh out of the box. You can’t take the Italian out of the girl I say.

Mom told a story recently I had never heard before about how as a small girl she was sent down the block from her grandparent’s apartment (and bar on a main drag in the small town of Long Branch) where she could get a very own pizza for lunch from one of the nearby merchants. They were expecting her and would seat her with her pie by the kitchen door. She said she was very pleased with herself and the arrangement and that in retrospect the couple who owned the establishment must have gotten a big kick out of her and her love of their pizza.

*This fellow out in front of Red Bank Pizza – hmmm. They do say delivery here, perhaps I was wrong?*

In the course of my childhood pizza was most frequently delivered in a thin cardboard box from the likes of places called Red Bank Pizza or Danny’s. It was delivered by a high school or college student, almost always male. It had thin crust and toppings were limited to the most traditional – pepperoni or sausage (before we all became vegetarians), maybe mushroom or peppers. It was, quite frankly, heavenly and a great treat made no less great by how very often we ate it. (Mom did love a night off from cooking.)

In high school I reached some sort of pinnacle of summer jobs making sub sandwiches and warming slices for Aniello’s Pizza. He made an exceptionally good pie with the only disadvantage being that he did not deliver so it lacked in convenience. While I worked there the rule was waitresses could eat as much pizza as you wanted, but in theory had to pay for sandwiches. No need to tell me twice. I happily lived on pizza that summer and even that did not dim my affection for it.

Somewhere along the line my father made a discovery, a place called The Brothers Pizza in Red Bank. Like some of the other top notch establishments they eschewed delivery. My Dad liked to go there with my brother Edward (hey Ed) on the weekend and I would tag along sometimes. I was known to introduce it to a boyfriend or two as well. I must run in that direction this weekend and see if it is still there. I usually stop a block or two short of making it over there, preferring not to cross an especially busy street or two. (Update, I just googled it and it still exists and they deliver – can you say pizza this weekend?)

In college we ate a fair amount of bad pizza from Dominoes – a disgrace really. Having grown up with a surfeit of really good pizza I barely knew such things existed. New London, Connecticut was not as well endowed with good pizza and you take what you can get in college and adjust your expectations accordingly. However, sometimes we would drive to a Greek owned pizzeria downtown (which sadly also did not deliver) and eat a memorable moussaka pizza – the only time in my life I have had that.

As you know, life eventually took me to New York City which is an odd and ambitious assortment of pizza. Within a few blocks you can have excellent traditional pies, chains like Dominoes, reasonable slices to go, homemade and gourmet. It is a pizza Mecca in some ways. It took me time and taste testing before I settled on Arturo’s on York Avenue and 85th Street as my pizza joint of choice. It is a street corner take out and delivery hole in the wall that makes a fine pie. I am partial to a well done mushroom, although olives tempt me too. Kim has graciously given up on peppers to fall into line with my mushroom preference. Arturo’s was very loyal to Yorkville during the pandemic and I gave them a shout out at the time in a post that can be found here. When they too close at for a month or so due to illness I really did begin to think things looked bleak indeed.

*This comparable but smaller fellow graces Arturo’s Pizza on East 85th Street.*

We walk up the, block to Arturo’s to fetch our own pizza – Kim eschews delivery and of course he is right, what is it to walk up the block. It is usually a nice walk as well and on pleasant evenings hanging out on the corner and waiting for our pie, watching folks get bright colored snow cones is good too. We take our pizza home in the more popular hard cardboard box which has mostly replaced the flimsy cardboard one. It has a graphic on it of a street scene in an imaginary Italy which has morphed a bit over time. Kim speculates that they hired someone very inexperienced to draw it and they have improved over time. I am sorry I don’t have a photo of it!

I was sad to realize that most of my childhood pizza places are gone – some as recently as during the pandemic it seems. My mom had scooped out a place called Gianni’s that delivers and is a credible pie. They also do a grandma’s deep dish. (I’ve eaten deep dish pizza in Chicago twice and I’m not sure I will ever eat anything else in Chicago if left up to my own devices.) If I do treat us to a Brother’s Pizza this weekend I will post it as a follow up on Instagram. It is sounding pretty good to me.

Avocado Toast and Coffee

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: Ongoing readers know that I have temporarily shifted my base to New Jersey to help with the care of my mom. This is rough going – a marathon interspersed with sprints in runner’s terms. For those of us who have been here ongoing, this last length of it is exhausting. Despite feeling like I have been training for it it takes a toll on body and mind.

I have written before (find it here) about the extraordinary care mom gets from the folks we have assembled here. They gently lift my mood and spirits daily with their efficiency and affection. Among them a sign that I am in residence has been a pot of freshly perked coffee on the stove. These days made early enough for the night shift before they leave and enough for the morning folks coming in. Coffee drinking is now a two pot affair which continues through late morning – maybe a final cup for some at lunch although I am well done by then myself.

I have written about my coffee preferences (here) which are old fashioned – I use a stainless steel percolator. (The same as I use at home.) The younger nurses have never even seen this method of making coffee and they are now all studying it and my technique. I am reviving this method of coffee making single handedly! It has the decided advantage of filling the house with the smell of freshly brewed coffee in a way that no other method can do. I go through a lot of coffee these days and while I am not devoted to one in particular I purchase good coffee from a variety of places. We need good coffee.

My mom has always made sure that the house is full of good food for the folks who come and go. She orders prepared food from Fresh Direct or a local farm market gone gourmet store, Sickles. (My first cat, Otto, came from that farm and as a result would go nuts at the smell of corn silk.) However, as days here for me turned into weeks, and my waistline increased despite maintaining my 25 miles or so of running weekly, I started to take things into my own hands.

A good friend makes sure I get out of the house beyond my run daily and that often takes the form of grocery shopping. I have embraced Trader Joe’s with fervor (I don’t live or work near one in Manhattan) while also learning about the ins and outs of the local Dollar store (where everything is $1.25) and an enormous Shop-Rite which I think might be the size of a city block!

Along with this I have of course started cooking. It happened slowly. First making eggs for myself and Winsome when she is on in the morning. Over medium with half a bagel with a recent foray into a cheesy well-done omelet. My friend Suzanne plies us with homemade French Toast as well and that has become a favorite, with people snacking on it until late in the morning.

*The basic salad – cheese and other bits are on the side.*

As a need for greens meant that daily salads (what I would eat at work most days anyway) have become the vogue. Quantities of green leafy vegetables, cucumbers and tomatoes make the base, along with a complement of nuts, raisons and olives, but leftovers or things that need eating find their way in – or around.

One day while munching salad I decided I needed something more and a yen for avocado toast possessed me. We had been putting avocado in the salad but I took half of one, toasted half an everything bagel, drizzled olive oil, lime juice, crushed red pepper, rocky salt. Well, I just set off a fire storm of avocado toast madness which swept through our small caregiving community! I have been churning out avocado toast for someone at breakfast, lunch or dinner ever since – who knew? It is spreading to their families and I am writing out the simple instructions – something of a run on crushed red pepper as a result..

I am branching out into dinner – a pasta with shrimp the other evening followed by salmon in miso marinade. (Have I ever mentioned that I was a professional chef before I was a fundraiser?) I am introducing folks to new ingredients and combinations. While mom cannot eat most of what I make, she is enjoying the smells of cooking and the community of shared homemade meals. I want her to feel that sense of a home inhabited and food being served to all with love which is what she would want to do if she could.

My being here means that poor Kim has been temporarily abandoned in New York and I feel bad writing about feeding folks here while he is fending for himself. However, I will be back to New York a bit this week and hope to make it up to you Kim! Miss you Sweetie!

Marinade for Miso Glazed Salmon: Equal parts (one tablespoon works for me) honey, miso paste, mirin, sesame oil and rice wine. Wisk together, marinade for at least 20 minutes, salt and pepper the filets. Drop into a hot pan sprayed with olive oil, allow to cook on the skin side and pop into a pre-heated oven at 450 for about 20-30 minutes, depending on your stove. I let it get brown on the top.

Here and Now

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Several months ago I wrote a post where I opined on my existence in liminal time, the space between time, poised on the threshold of one thing and another as I helped care for my mom and witness her failing health. (That post can be found here.) Since then her health has continued to deteriorate and I have slipped further down the rabbit hole.

Until recently I would grab several days a week there in New Jersey, every other week and then weekly. My work days were largely uninterrupted and I would spend mornings, lunch and evenings with mom and her caregivers and cats. While it wasn’t home, which remains intact in Manhattan, but it was a home away from home and while I wrote more recently (here) about how wearing the transfer was there was some chance to get rest there.

*Mom’s cat Beau who has been taking the changes lately very to heart and is a very worried kitty.*

Mom’s health took a serious turn for the worse recently and we are in a period I can I describe as pretty brutal. Our days and nights are punctuated by the sound of the oxygen machine and the television, always on CNN – mom’s choice!

As we slip into this phase I feel the full weight of her care, her finances and the care of the cats and house, shifting over to my shoulders and frankly I stagger under it. Work is wedged between the coming and going of docs and various tradesmen – delivering and picking up. Understandably, mom is fretful and needs attention and reassurance. I am grateful for the flexibility of my co-workers and their concern during these days as the period drags on longer and longer.

Nights are especially long there and the late nurse coming on, mom’s wakefulness, and even cats chasing each other keep me awake even if worrying about taxes, money, work and a myriad of other things don’t crowd in. No sleeping pills there in case I am needed. Instead the television stays on, a quiet buzz of mostly home renovation television, all night long – a soothing loop of eager home buyers viewing house after house. I wake periodically and hopefully fall back asleep.

*View at the start of an early morning rainy run this week.*

In the morning I wake to make the first of two pots of coffee as more and more people find their way to the house for various reasons. Oddly my coffee has become somewhat legendary – made with an old fashioned percolating pot I am a one person influencer of the younger generation as now they all want to learn how I make it. I occasionally wake to find one of the young night shift folks attempting it on her own to various results. I give out tips and tricks.

Plying them with coffee is the least I can do after I know they have had a hard night and most of them will go onto day jobs, not to mention kids at home who need to go to school and who stayed with a grandparent or someone else overnight. For them this night shift represents a financial edge to get ahead, but recently it has become more grueling. Therefore the day starts very early there.

I do my best to rally the troops of Team Butler any way I can with treats, stories and conversation – trying to make sure they have everything they need and enough help. Still, we lose folks along the way and it is hard to find replacements. If nothing else exhaustion and exposure leads to picking up a cold, the flu of even Covid, which takes them out for a period of time.

I like them all although I suppose I have favorites. Each brings a different sensibility to her work (yes, they are all women) and a shift with any one or combination of two is somewhat unique. The pair of sisters, one who lights up the house with her cheerfulness and the other very calming, the older woman who is wonderful but quite deaf – the very tall young woman who travels quite a distance to get to and from us each day for whom; this is her first job of this kind.

Mom clearly has favorites and makes little secret of her preferences – to some degree this has not changed. She was always a pretty easy read with folks and has only become more outspoken.

*Stormy, mom’s last rescue, allows me a bit closer these days but still won’t let me pet her.*

A good friend walks over for an early cup of coffee and sometimes brings a breakfast of French toast, hot cross buns or other treats. She brings flowers for mom and sings for her in the afternoons. Suzanne is also kind enough to get me out of the house every day for a bit so that I can back off, even if it is only to buy groceries or grab a sandwich.

And of course I run. Time and energy are dictating shorter runs, but I get 3-4 miles in most mornings, weather permitting. I find it hard to get out the door and start, but once in motion my body responds to habit and command and I feel better for it. (I wrote about that good habit here last week.)

*Milty, the eldest statesmen of cats in the house, is a grumpy fellow who complains liberally. He has a crush on one of the nurses and the friend who comes to fix our electronic devices, Larry.*

There will be good things I know I will remember. The other night mom’s favorite caregiver stayed over to cover for her daughter who had done a very hard shift the night before. She is the person in charge of all the other nurses and aides and is truly everyone’s favorite. I declared it a pj party and made avocado toast on everything bagel halves for all. I will need to lose weight when this is all over.

Although there are cats aplenty, we all applaud when a stray we feed shows up for a meal. I have christened him Hobo and I am pretty sure we are only one of several places he stops on a never ending quest for food. Hobo days are considered special and the news that he came and went spreads throughout the ranks of the subsequent shifts.

*Hobo, our wandering dinner guest, gobbling 3 cans of food early yesterday morning for a second appearance in two days.*

Last night I landed back in Manhattan for 48 hours after more than a week there. The city seemed slightly out of focus with inebriated St. Pat’s Day celebrants wandering the streets. Now I am slowly absorbing the facts of my own home again – things left undone as I rushed out the door last week. I am so happy to see Kim and the cats are getting lots of attention to make up for my absence. (Cookie was the first to forgive my transgressions, but Blackie caught up later in the evening. He deigned to sleep with me last night.)

It was hard to leave mom and now it will be hard to depart from here tomorrow. These are the days of not looking too far ahead and just getting done what needs to be, making decisions as they arise and, with the help of everyone around me, doing the best I can do.

Cat-a-pult

Posted by Pam's Pictorama

Pam’s Pictorama Post: I am in love with this photo and snatched it up as quickly as I could! A timeless image for cat lovers, caught on an early photo postcard. Somehow, even with slower film, someone managed to catch this perfect moment, the woman in her full white long cotton skirt, her hair carefully done. Puss, who was to have his photo taken, probably in her arms, has other ideas.

So lucky that the camera man or woman was quick on the draw! Kit is quite a fluffy furry fellow or miss – tail flying behind him or her – I am betting on him as it appears to maybe be an orange tabby and those are mostly male.

There are leaves on the ground which create a pattern and some space and a Tudor-style house in the background. It is interesting to note that this was used as a Christmas card. Printed on the back with what appears to have been a stamp is some holly and the message, A Merry Xmas to You. Hand written is also, With Mr. &Mrs. Hook’s best wishes 1912, and in the corner just, Jessie Hook.

I like to imagine that the photo, presumably of Jessie, was taken in the early fall and Jessie so amused it became the Christmas card.

It is hard to believe, but here at mom’s there are five cats and almost none will let me pet them. There is of course, Stormy (Cat of Mystery) who will allow no one to pet her – or even see her very often.

For those of you who are new to her story, she appeared one (very stormy) night and my mom put a trap out for her. She strolled into it immediately. After shots and spaying, mom kept her with an eye to finding her a home. Despite some internet pleading on my part, we had no takers and Stormy joined the family – although a bit like a shadow. She appears in the evening most often when the house is at its most quiet. She likes to sleep in a chair near my mom – who never leaves her chair so Stormy likes that stationary aspect of her.

Peaches, another female, was found as a kitten trapped in a basement in a neighboring town, yelling her head off until someone found her. The someone was a friend of my cousin and somehow Peaches also found her way to mom’s house. She is very feral and fiercely keeps humans at a distance of never less than about a foot. Recently though she trusts us enough for a stretch and a roll around on the kitchen floor in front of all of us. I have a long term goal of petting her one day.

Meanwhile, my mom’s cat Beau (Beauregard) is utterly devoted to her. He glared at us humans who are clearly inadequate to the task of caring for her to his standards.

He’s rarely further than the chair next to her. His yellow eyes following our every move. Mom rescued him from a photo she received from a Newark shelter years ago. He somehow understands that she moved heaven and earth to get him and appreciates it.

Beau will allow me to pet him and if necessary I am usually designated to move him if necessary – if mom wants to eat let’s say. I usually put him on my coat for a snuggle which is novel and meets with his approval.

Gus is another stray who wandered into the house a few years ago. He is a very mild mannered cat – a bit under the thumb of Beau and the elder statesman, Milty. He has a major crush on one of mom’s care givers and snuggles with her, but never can let me get more than about three inches away.

Lastly is Milty – he came from a Milton Road in Newark many years ago. Most senior cat, he is approaching his second decade. He is the squeaky wheel of the house and will seat himself in front of you (or on you) and demand food or attention. Occasionally he takes on Beau to remind him he is senior cat and not down yet.

I am missing Kim and my own Cookie and Blackie during this extended stay in New Jersey. However, while I may not get pets with each of the (sometimes) slippery kitties here I appreciate their antics and mom enjoys each and every one and loves being surrounded by them every day.

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