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.
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.
The one with bees!
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.
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?)
Brother’s Pizza, Red Bank.
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.
Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Back in February I posted about my recent birthday trip downtown which included a brief foray at the flea market on 26th Street. (That post can be found here.) While there, I quietly picked up this rather splendid postcard to give Kim three days later for Valentine’s Day. It has never been used and there was no writing on it. There is some solarization I cannot quite get rid of when I photograph it. Mostly it has a wonderful and whacky sensibility which I thought would appeal to Kim’s taste.
The seller at the flea market had just a few random letters so I was fortunate to find a D among them, however it also turned out to be an especially good photo from this series. The lyrical looking woman holds apple (?) blossoms in front of this great scene of the two children (girls perhaps) having a photo shoot complete with box camera, tucked inside the letter if you will. We see nothing but the feet and back of one, and the other posing prettily, dressed up, primped, furbelowed and curled, with a flower in hand. A photo within a photo.
The D is painted, as is the scenery landscape beyond the children and somehow they have melded the photograph pieces together by a delicate operation of painted blooms and clouds. It is pretty seamless and I have a bit of a hard time deconstructing how this was put together. As one online source questioned – is it really a photo postcard? It is certainly a hybrid and the photo over painting and photo is delightfully many layered.
Letter P not in Pams-Pictorama.com collection.
I devoted part of the morning to looking for more of these and some information online. (A pleasant trip down a postcard rabbit hole I will say.)They were produced by the Rotograph Company and one source says this series is from 1914. The woman always poses, usually with a floral flourish, in front of the letter and the children appear in tableaus behind her, usually two but sometimes three as in the P I grabbed online below. I like the P, although not as much as the D. For me the two cheeky little girls, sort of up in the tree that makes the P really put it over.
The B isn’t in my collection either and I find it a tad disappointing.
In a continuing search for our initials, I found the B, but like it least of all. Despite the pup in front and a very sweet view of a home in the distance, I find the woman and children less interesting in this arrangement.
To my dismay and surprise, the K turns out to be a bit rarified and I was unable to find a photo of it to examine or snatch for my examination. Instead I offer you the letter E which I found a bit compelling along the way although it doesn’t do us much good. The woman is back in her floral mode and the two kids are hanging out in the middle of the E under an umbrella. I like the sort of marshy scene.
I just like the E, but also not in my collection. I’d grab it though.
There is a hand tinted version below, but I can’t say I think the tinting improves them really.
A hand colored version for comparison. Not in my collection.
Now the D is framed and has a place of pride on the wall, as you head into our kitchen – just across from a wall of Felix photos and under the Little Orphan Annie and Sandy wax cloth dolls.
Pam’s Pictorama Post: This very homemade photo postcard caught my eye for some reason. It is dated January 15, 1920, handwritten on both front and back. It was never sent and I don’t know where it hails from, but it is a snowy January locale. An out of season litter of kittens is scarfing down a meal with what appears to be their mom, on the side of this clapboard house.
I can make out a winter washtub, buckets, a stool and what might be a water pump although some of it is a bit indistinct. Kitties are being fed on a wooden walkway, presumably raised above the snow to minimize the inevitable mud being traipsed in the house. This cat quartet is enjoying meals from somewhat outsized bowls – the one kitten downright dwarfed by his and you wonder if he will need to actually climb in to get the last of his dinner. I am sure, however, that he or she will manage.
I grew up in a home that became increasing well endowed with cats over time. With a beginning investment of one, then two, somehow we slipped into a bevy of kitties over time. Once we weren’t quick enough and a litter of kittens set off a chain effect, and for a number of years the household expanded to accommodate a more or less two to one cat to human ratio. Seems, at least for us Butlers, cats are a slippery slope.
The Butler cat buffet in action.
This mini herd of felines would all come running when they heard my mother call, Chow time! To my memory there was no getting picky over food types and flavors back in that time. There were rather generic cans of cat food and bags or boxes of dry food and cats ate it – unless of course they were stealing food off the table (one cat, Zipper, managed to steal a steak off the table – dropped it right into the happy jaws of our waiting German Shepard, she who definitely won the lottery that day), or committing some other food related sin. Being picky was not among those sins however.
Predating the chow time call was the simple sound of an electric can opener which made the cats of the day come running. For the younger reader, this device was very popular before the advent of the pop top can. It came after the hand can opener (several which still reside in my kitchen), but made opening the numerous canned goods of the day quicker I guess. They still exist, but seem to have waned in popularity. Of course this meant that there were many false food calls for cats, but they remained at the ready nevertheless.
Milty and Stormy (gray tabby) with a special bowl I put out in the living room for her since no one wants to let her eat in the kitchen.
Our cats, Blackie and Cookie, are on a fairly strict eating schedule of 6am and 6pm daily, although they have dry food to snack on between times. Kim has the primary responsibility for cat feeding (and Blackie’s insulin shots now which follow immediately) and the kits are pretty good about it although they, like all cats, would love to adopt a more open handed feeding schedule. We continue to demur.
The only view we much every get of Hobo, the persistent backdoor stray in NJ.
Mom’s cats, on the other hand, enjoy a less regulated, ongoing Butler buffet of wet and dry food. Hobo, our wily stray who has been showing up for more regular meals now that I am more frequently in residence, gobbles two to three cans at a go. I joke that he must have a hollow leg, but I guess he is a fellow who is unsure where his next meal will come from and maximizes his opportunities. For the cats in residence, the caregivers and I open cat food cans with impunity upon my mother’s request and the pantry groans and abounds with Chewy boxes.
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.
Proud pot perched on stove.
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.
French Toast supplied by a friend.
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..
Assembly line avocado toast.
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.
Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: There is a certain kind of cat photo postcard I am a sucker for and this fits the bill perfectly. These two tabby tigers perch together on this bench in this very homemade photo postcard where someone has taken the time to etch their names in during the printing process.
It is poorly made – even before the intervening decades (more than ten) it was likely faded from poor processing, perhaps tired chemicals or just an inexperienced hand. It is hard to see but the bench that Tiger and Tom pose on may actually be a chair that has lost its back. Hard to tell.
Tiger and Tom look ready to make a break for it so I understand the pressure on the photographer to rush a bit. Cats will be cats and these would like to get on with their play in that big field which was probably full of all kinds of interesting things to chase and marvels to consider and conquer.
Greetings from H…ll according to Chic!
On the back, in a clear if youngish hand, it says, Heard you were at the fair. I had a day off but went to Owosso instead. Had a great time. When are you coming to H…ll? Chic and then below, They all call me Chic out here for there are3 Myrtas besides me. It is addressed to Miss Julia Purdy, Fowlerville, Mich. The postmark is indistinct but appears to be from October 26, 1908. Sadly no reference to the puss portraits on the verso.
Milty (left) and Peaches in an uneasy alliance.
Spending time at my mom’s house among her numerous kits (I posted about their general ambivalence to me recently which can be found here) I am reminded of the feline politics of a house full of kits. Growing up we always had a waxing and waning (usually waxing) number of cats and you become accustom to their pecking order, the shifting sands of affiliations and turf tussles..
A rather noble photo of Peaches this week. She hisses at me when I find her in my office.
Currently in this house Milty is technically senior cat but so old that he is a bit of a figurehead (shhh, don’t tell him) and it is Beau who is really top cat. He rules with a casual paw for the most part. Gus is a male upstart who is always testing the water with Beau who cuffs him about the head and neck and tells him to get on with his own business. This leaves two girls – the ever bossy Peaches and the so timid now you see her now you don’t Stormy. For some reason we refer to them mostly in a formal way – Miss Peaches, Mr. Milty, etc. This goes for all the caregivers too.
Cookie and Blackie rarely sleept together so I tend to document it if I come across it.
All this to say, I see some interesting combinations and odd bedfellows amongst the participants as they look for strength in numbers and allies. Sometimes I find Peaches and Milty napping uneasily together in a chair, later maybe Gus and Beau having a truce in the side bedroom. Everyone loves the room I sleep in and the office I use as these rooms are closed to them when I am not here. There is a great outpouring of cat interest when these doors open with my arrival.
Hobo munching breakfast today. And the reveal of his entry point!
I will close on a stray cat note. Hobo, a ragged looking male I have taken to feeding (because we don’t have enough cats you say!) who consumes copious cans at a time – the cat has a hollow leg I swear. He showed early this morning for his first three cans of the day. We’ve long wondered where he was entering our yard as it is entirely fenced in. Today I discovered his path and a small hole in the fence, with a well-worn cat path clearly defined!
Pam’s Pictorama Post: One evening a number of weeks back I was scrolling through my beloved Instagram account (I sometimes think I am the only one who loves their IG account this much, but mine is a endless source of cat videos, antiques and vintage jewelry and I turn to it for gentle relaxation and entertainment), when I spotted this nifty item.
A sister version was also up for sale, both featured on a favorite account, @marsh.and.meadow. I scooped her up immediately. I of course now regret not purchasing both, although even she seemed like an odd indulgence at the time. (As seen below, I have a good chance at rectifying that mistake if I so wish.)
Not in Pams-Pictorama.com collection although this similar one would make a solid state ashtray. For sale on eBay at the time of publication.
She was being sold as an ashtray and I bought her as such, given that I had a recent need for an ashtray and had fallen short. (This was a very good reason for purchasing her I thought.) However, once I had secured her I quickly realized that I could not have people putting cigs and joints out in her tummy, and decided that she is strictly decorative – being even a bit small for pins and bobs. As you can see, she now lives on our bookshelf, drifting along under Little Nemo in Slumberland and two (especially beloved by Kim) ancient volumes of Dumas.
Not in Pams-Pictorama.com collection although I love her little blue swim shoes and she’d make a better ashtray!
I think our girl could fairly be called a flapper, with her hair back in a scarf. She appears to be in a swimsuit of the day (the top more implied than defined), a towel or scarf over one arm, a splendid black and white spotted kitty in the other arm. The glaze is a nice pearlescent under the towel. Her feet are in little black swim shoes.
This similar version is available on Etsy at the time of publication.Very pearly and a bit more racy.
The person painting her personality on gave her red bow lips, a faint blush and gold hair. How nice that she has drifted through the decades, forever in her stylish (for the day) swim togs with kitty.
She is marked Made in Japan and while a quick Google search did not turn her up precisely I found some kissin’ cousins which I have shown here, although no real information. Slightly later versions start to veer to the somewhat racier, with better defined paint and strategically (smoking) placed cigarette holding.
Her mark of origin shown on her tiny feet!
All these shown are available on either Etsy or eBay at the time of posting so if you need your own you are in luck. Or maybe I will scoop another up in an attempt to finally fill my ashtray need.
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.
Wintery view from a run this week.
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.
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.
Miss Stormy.
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 – has cattitude!
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.
Beau
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.
Milty and Peaches, uneasy alliance.
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.
Milty, senior cat.
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.
Pam's Pictorama 