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Today, we go to get Dad's ashes. They are only open until 1 since it is Christmas Eve, but they are open. I wasn't sure if I would get his ashes before Tuesday or not - so I am grateful, if very sad.
I had given them bayberry candles - Mom loved them - when she was so ill, so they could burn them. Except for one pair, they never got used, and that pair was lit and burned partway after Mom was no longer speaking. But I hope she smelled them (it was the smell she loved, especially) and saw the light, and was content. And they were burned a bit more after, and then Dad took them out and set them on the TV stand, and they're still there. They come with this little legend card that says if you burn them to the nub on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve, they'll bring good luck for the coming year.
When we pick Dad's ashes up today, we will take them with us to my parents' house. I intended - and still intend - to burn those candles down today, in memory of my parents and in hope that they are somewhere kind and happy, still around. That's the best luck I could ask for. And now when I do, Dad will be there - kind of - as well as in spirit.
When I bought them, I bought a set for us also: I will burn those down on New Year's Eve, hoping for a better year to come for everyone, and still hoping that there's something good for my parents. I think it's a silly little superstition, probably, but it's a gesture that means something to me right now, even if it is silly. And if my parents can see me, I suspect they may also think it's silly, but I hope they'd be amused and touched. If they were alive and I were doing it for someone else, I think that would be the case.
I uploaded four photos to Flickr, scans of loose photos that Dad and I found around the house, I think not last weekend but the weekend before. Two of him with cats all over his shoulders, one of two of the cats, and one of the irrepressible Hooter sleeping on Mom's cutting board. He was often called Hoot or Hooter; full name Hoot and Holler. As a kitten, his Mom abandoned him (there was something not right with his digestive system; he got ill easily all his days). I told Mom about him and she warned me that sometimes a kitten looks abandoned when it isn't so we should watch. But I'd touched him and protested he was cold. He was, too. We brought him in, and Mom tucked him on a heating pad turned very low, and fed him, and cleaned him up. Sweety helped rear him, curling up with him, cleaning him, and so on. He got his name because he would cry so so loudly when he was hungry. He tended to eat too much as well - not that I can blame him, after that experience. We used to discipline the cats with a spray bottle. It didn't work so well on Hoot; he eventually decided he didn't mind being wet. He'd stand in the sink and drink from the faucet. He'd walk all over the counter. He'd curl up on Mom's cutting board (which she obviously cleaned very thoroughly before each use - AND left it use-side-down when not in use, once she realized he was not going to be broken of that habit).
I'm too out of it today to post little previews. The photos are:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyrielle/331900879/ - Dad with cats
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyrielle/331900885/ - Dad with cats again
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyrielle/331900888/ - Hoot with Butterball
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyrielle/331900889/ - Hoot on the cutting board
The cat in my icon, by the way, is from a later time, and was named "Curious". I think Curious lived there when I graduated college, but it might have been a few years later or earlier. I don't remember being told he died, so I suspect he was one of the ones that simply left and never returned, but I could be wrong.
I had given them bayberry candles - Mom loved them - when she was so ill, so they could burn them. Except for one pair, they never got used, and that pair was lit and burned partway after Mom was no longer speaking. But I hope she smelled them (it was the smell she loved, especially) and saw the light, and was content. And they were burned a bit more after, and then Dad took them out and set them on the TV stand, and they're still there. They come with this little legend card that says if you burn them to the nub on Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve, they'll bring good luck for the coming year.
When we pick Dad's ashes up today, we will take them with us to my parents' house. I intended - and still intend - to burn those candles down today, in memory of my parents and in hope that they are somewhere kind and happy, still around. That's the best luck I could ask for. And now when I do, Dad will be there - kind of - as well as in spirit.
When I bought them, I bought a set for us also: I will burn those down on New Year's Eve, hoping for a better year to come for everyone, and still hoping that there's something good for my parents. I think it's a silly little superstition, probably, but it's a gesture that means something to me right now, even if it is silly. And if my parents can see me, I suspect they may also think it's silly, but I hope they'd be amused and touched. If they were alive and I were doing it for someone else, I think that would be the case.
I uploaded four photos to Flickr, scans of loose photos that Dad and I found around the house, I think not last weekend but the weekend before. Two of him with cats all over his shoulders, one of two of the cats, and one of the irrepressible Hooter sleeping on Mom's cutting board. He was often called Hoot or Hooter; full name Hoot and Holler. As a kitten, his Mom abandoned him (there was something not right with his digestive system; he got ill easily all his days). I told Mom about him and she warned me that sometimes a kitten looks abandoned when it isn't so we should watch. But I'd touched him and protested he was cold. He was, too. We brought him in, and Mom tucked him on a heating pad turned very low, and fed him, and cleaned him up. Sweety helped rear him, curling up with him, cleaning him, and so on. He got his name because he would cry so so loudly when he was hungry. He tended to eat too much as well - not that I can blame him, after that experience. We used to discipline the cats with a spray bottle. It didn't work so well on Hoot; he eventually decided he didn't mind being wet. He'd stand in the sink and drink from the faucet. He'd walk all over the counter. He'd curl up on Mom's cutting board (which she obviously cleaned very thoroughly before each use - AND left it use-side-down when not in use, once she realized he was not going to be broken of that habit).
I'm too out of it today to post little previews. The photos are:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyrielle/331900879/ - Dad with cats
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyrielle/331900885/ - Dad with cats again
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyrielle/331900888/ - Hoot with Butterball
http://www.flickr.com/photos/kyrielle/331900889/ - Hoot on the cutting board
The cat in my icon, by the way, is from a later time, and was named "Curious". I think Curious lived there when I graduated college, but it might have been a few years later or earlier. I don't remember being told he died, so I suspect he was one of the ones that simply left and never returned, but I could be wrong.
Tags:
- cats,
- family,
- father,
- holidays,
- links,
- photography,
- reminiscing,
- sad
