It rumbled earlier this morning and when I looked outside it was drizzling. The mountains were shrouded in grey and the temperatuers were dropping. When I took the dogs out for their run in the foothills my hands were cold; first time this season. We needed what little rain we got.
The storm warning started at 6pm and will continue through tomorrow night, with snow above 5000'. I have to remember to bring in the rest of my plants before they freeze to death. I don't have enough leaves to keep the smaller plants warm.
The birds were busy all day today eating the seeds I had out for them. What a feathered feast we had in our front yard!
I have been fighting a chest cold these last two days. I'm coughing up phlegm balls bigger than gum balls. Tonight my throat feels raw as well. This is not a good time to get sick as I have finals starting this week.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
It's been a tough semester
It's been almost two weeks since I last posted here? How time has gone by.
I will admit that this was no easy semester. I don't think I was this challenged for quite a while. What started out in August as a slap of reality (getting a "C" on an English paper!) has turned into a demanding workload of literally learning how to write research papers again. I woke up and studied hard. Had being away from school all these years really made me lazy? And since when do I get "Cs" in English?
After several re-writes and deeper reflections I've since then gotten two As, one B, and today my highest score yet, a 94 (A) and a comment by my instructor that he really, really liked my work. Everything flowed except my MLA citations. I had not cited in proper format. DING! I lost six points right there. Unless I mess up terribly on the final I should finish this English course with a low A. Despite my early disappointments I must admit that my instructor has always been firm and fair with my writing and I've picked up some tips from him. There were times I even drove home after a lecture inspired to write the next great American short story or poem.
I'll remember my English instructor as the tall, thin, quiet man who wears brown-leather sailboat shoes without socks, who spoke little in class but when he did, he spoke with significance. He remembered our names after the first week, something I admired him as some of my Education instructors struggled for weeks just to memorize our initials. When he wore socks last week I knew the weather had turned to autumn. When he complimented me today on my work, I was ready to scream with relief. I finally wrote a paper he considered near-perfect!
Research writing and analytical writing is not quite as easy for me as creative writing. I'll stick to creative writing.
Then I got a "C" in my Computer Essentials class. I was ready to drop that course last week but hung on until my last grade came in. My research paper pushed my grade up from a low B to a low A. I could really pull a low A in that class afterall. The instructor, who sometimes talked too fast for my pace as I lagged behind trying to understand computer lingo, also has turned out to be a compassionate mentor who told me from the beginning that I was worried too much about that first (and only) "C" in that class. I didn't want to listen to her, but now I realize that she was right. What I need more than anything is to practice more with my computer skills and go over lessons I've struggled with earlier. It's not that I'm incompetent, but some of the skills were so foreign to me that I couldn't grasp everything in a two-week period.
And then there is my history instructor, a smallish man with an earstud in his left ear. I have no idea what he thinks of me (he's not one to give back feedback on our work), but he is a wealth of knowledge when it comes to US history. Despite his liberal leanings I admire him for his passion and his ability to infect me with wanting to know more about our own troubled past.
I managed to pull good grades out of this semester despite my course load, my many hours at school during the flu pandemic (which has died back in the last two weeks) and my chores at home with three anxious dogs and two very sick cats.
This wasn't an easy semester for me. My weekends in the mountains were my only relief. I've made some good friends and I've learned so much, but it came at a price in my homelife. I still think of Reina as I remember her in her last hour, I still think of Vinnie as she struggled for life in the end, and sometimes I still fight the demons in me that ask what took her from me. I miss them both. I cried for both, yet here I am still going strong despite their absences. Sometimes I amaze myself.
I will admit that this was no easy semester. I don't think I was this challenged for quite a while. What started out in August as a slap of reality (getting a "C" on an English paper!) has turned into a demanding workload of literally learning how to write research papers again. I woke up and studied hard. Had being away from school all these years really made me lazy? And since when do I get "Cs" in English?
After several re-writes and deeper reflections I've since then gotten two As, one B, and today my highest score yet, a 94 (A) and a comment by my instructor that he really, really liked my work. Everything flowed except my MLA citations. I had not cited in proper format. DING! I lost six points right there. Unless I mess up terribly on the final I should finish this English course with a low A. Despite my early disappointments I must admit that my instructor has always been firm and fair with my writing and I've picked up some tips from him. There were times I even drove home after a lecture inspired to write the next great American short story or poem.
I'll remember my English instructor as the tall, thin, quiet man who wears brown-leather sailboat shoes without socks, who spoke little in class but when he did, he spoke with significance. He remembered our names after the first week, something I admired him as some of my Education instructors struggled for weeks just to memorize our initials. When he wore socks last week I knew the weather had turned to autumn. When he complimented me today on my work, I was ready to scream with relief. I finally wrote a paper he considered near-perfect!
Research writing and analytical writing is not quite as easy for me as creative writing. I'll stick to creative writing.
Then I got a "C" in my Computer Essentials class. I was ready to drop that course last week but hung on until my last grade came in. My research paper pushed my grade up from a low B to a low A. I could really pull a low A in that class afterall. The instructor, who sometimes talked too fast for my pace as I lagged behind trying to understand computer lingo, also has turned out to be a compassionate mentor who told me from the beginning that I was worried too much about that first (and only) "C" in that class. I didn't want to listen to her, but now I realize that she was right. What I need more than anything is to practice more with my computer skills and go over lessons I've struggled with earlier. It's not that I'm incompetent, but some of the skills were so foreign to me that I couldn't grasp everything in a two-week period.
And then there is my history instructor, a smallish man with an earstud in his left ear. I have no idea what he thinks of me (he's not one to give back feedback on our work), but he is a wealth of knowledge when it comes to US history. Despite his liberal leanings I admire him for his passion and his ability to infect me with wanting to know more about our own troubled past.
I managed to pull good grades out of this semester despite my course load, my many hours at school during the flu pandemic (which has died back in the last two weeks) and my chores at home with three anxious dogs and two very sick cats.
This wasn't an easy semester for me. My weekends in the mountains were my only relief. I've made some good friends and I've learned so much, but it came at a price in my homelife. I still think of Reina as I remember her in her last hour, I still think of Vinnie as she struggled for life in the end, and sometimes I still fight the demons in me that ask what took her from me. I miss them both. I cried for both, yet here I am still going strong despite their absences. Sometimes I amaze myself.
Friday, November 6, 2009
The Queen is dead
She died around 4pm yesterday of kidney failure. Although she had been losing weight over the year, and despite a few weeks of remission, her last few days were spent suffering. I couldn't let her continue in agony.
She entered the hospital Tuesday night. At first the diagnosis was "stress" and that more tests would continue the next day, but by Wednesday no progress was made. By Thursday morning I got the call to come to the hospital to see Reina and she looked worse than before, lying there, barely able to move her head. She could no longer meow. After a painful hug and some quiet time alone, where I thanked her for the great 12.5 years together, I let her go.
She was a fighter to the end. As small as she was she took on the big dogs, defending her adopted kittens from the evil dogs.
We don't know how long she had this disease. It was never discovered by the vet the two times she was in the clinic earlier this year. "Hyperthyroidism can hide other diseases" said Dr Davis, the gently doctor who gave Reina the final shot. Reina only had days to live and I couldn't see her lying there, unable to move, barely able to see or respond. Although I could feel her lungs move whenever I called out her name (she always responded with a quiet meow whenever I called her), those final moments were just spent holding her. She felt so cold, so skinny with just her matted fur hiding her skeleton.
She was a good cat, and didn't deserve to die this way. But I have closure with her.
She was always a sickly cat, all her life, and never weighed more than eight pounds. A few days ago she weighed in at barely three. That she lived so long is perhaps a miracle.
I will miss my Queen. I can still see her painful face looking at me through the cage that final hour. Tears swell up in me just remembering her like that.
She entered the hospital Tuesday night. At first the diagnosis was "stress" and that more tests would continue the next day, but by Wednesday no progress was made. By Thursday morning I got the call to come to the hospital to see Reina and she looked worse than before, lying there, barely able to move her head. She could no longer meow. After a painful hug and some quiet time alone, where I thanked her for the great 12.5 years together, I let her go.
She was a fighter to the end. As small as she was she took on the big dogs, defending her adopted kittens from the evil dogs.
We don't know how long she had this disease. It was never discovered by the vet the two times she was in the clinic earlier this year. "Hyperthyroidism can hide other diseases" said Dr Davis, the gently doctor who gave Reina the final shot. Reina only had days to live and I couldn't see her lying there, unable to move, barely able to see or respond. Although I could feel her lungs move whenever I called out her name (she always responded with a quiet meow whenever I called her), those final moments were just spent holding her. She felt so cold, so skinny with just her matted fur hiding her skeleton.
She was a good cat, and didn't deserve to die this way. But I have closure with her.
She was always a sickly cat, all her life, and never weighed more than eight pounds. A few days ago she weighed in at barely three. That she lived so long is perhaps a miracle.
I will miss my Queen. I can still see her painful face looking at me through the cage that final hour. Tears swell up in me just remembering her like that.
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