Wednesday (August 5th) was day two in Amish country for our little anniversary getaway. We slept in, and then took our time getting ready. I sat on the front porch some and started Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Once we were presentable, we headed back to Grandma’s Homestead restaurant because we had seen the night before that they had a breakfast buffet. It was quite tasty, but my favorite part of the breakfast was the homemade strawberry jam. They were not messing around with that – it was basically smooshed-up strawberries (and probably some sugar) and it was fantastic! Shockingly, we both ate too much.

After breakfast, we headed (via scenic back roads) to Miller’s Bakery. Miller’s Bakery is off the beaten path, but had been recommended to us by the owners of the B and B. It was certainly worth the trip! They had huge cookies and desserts for very cheap, and they had homemade chocolates for $6/pound. It was a pity that we went there when we were full, but we still managed to buy a few baked goods and chocolates. And, yes, you are starting to see a food theme in our vacation.

We stopped back at the bakery of Der Dutchman on the way back to the B and B to pick up a cake that Mer had wanted. She really had just wanted to buy a slice, but they only had whole cakes this day, so we plunked down the $4 and went home with too much food.

We went back to the cottage were we munched on our bakery goods, and I napped while Mer went on the back porch to read. Having fully rested, and having virtuously skipped lunch, we took a scenic drive out to Mrs. Yoder’s Kitchen, where we tried to order fairly light – we got sandwiches again. We were both still pretty full from brunch and snacking.

At some point during the day’s driving, we saw another smile-worthy moment. We saw a very cute little Amish girl in her traditional Amish clothing, and sporting bright pink Crocs. Mer and I both agreed that Amish children are all cute, including the boys. Neither of us is particularly parentally inclined, but the children we saw were just cute. They sometimes waved and we never saw them pitching fits.

After supper, we went home again and we played Dark and Stormy, a game about the first lines of books. I think I actually won this time – I can win about 1 out of 5 times when we play, but I may be remembering it wrong. Still, I’ll say I won. We played on the front porch, and were able to wave at a couple of Amish girls who rode by on horseback. The evening was quite nice, and it was pleasant to be on the porch with a good excuse to watch the sunset.

We ended the evening by beginning a six-part adaptation of Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. I had recently listened to the book while running, and so wanted to see a movie version. The adaptation was decent. They cut some characters, and the changed a little bit of the ending (which we saw once we went back home – we did not watch all six parts that evening!), and made it a little more romantic, which I guess I can overlook. It was a good way to end a good day (nothing says “anniversary” like 19th-century literature!).

Mer and I took our second (of two) mini-vacations in August. Over a year ago, a friend of mine gave me a two-night stay at a Bed and Breakfast down in Ohio Amish Country. I had not used the gift certificate, and Mer thought it would be a good use of it to celebrate our 11th anniversary (which was on the 8th of August). I agreed that it was a fine idea, and so I took three days of vacation – Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, August 4th-6th. It would have made more sense to make the vacation join up with a weekend, but the B and B was booked for the weekends around our anniversary. Besides, it made for a nice treat to be away from work during the week.

We slept in at home on Tuesday (why start a vacation with setting an alarm?), and got things packed up for the 90-minute drive to Holmes County. It was a pretty day, and we had no trouble getting to Amish Country. We stopped at our usual Amish restaurant, Der Dutchman, for lunch. It was more or less on the way, and we decided we could check in at the B and B after we had eaten. I had a very good but un-Amish stir fry (the chicken in it was quite wonderful), and we swung by the bakery after lunch and drooled over the cheap baked goods (they were selling pies for $6 and entire ho-ho cakes for $4). We held off on buying any, because I wanted to visit the chocolate factory down the street that we had never been to (and had not even known existed). Before stocking up on chocolate, we decided to poke around in the shops in Walnut Creek.

My favorite store there is a religious wood carving store. I am a big fan of wood, and while a few things struck me as tacky, on the whole the carvings were tasteful and made of beautiful wood. My favorite piece was a reproduction of a hymnal page of “Amazing Grace.” It would have fit nicely in a spot in our living room, but the price was way too high (more than some complete furniture sets from Amish stores).

I was poking around in the upstairs portion of the store when I heard someone talking. I pretty quickly realized the woman was not speaking English, and after a moment or two I figured it must be Pennsylvania Dutch (a Germanic language spoken by some Amish and Mennonites). The woman was in traditional dress – a white bonnet and a plain, light blue dress. The parts that made me smile were that she was wearing white sneakers and was speaking German into her cell phone. I don’t know all the “dos and don’ts” of Amish ways, but that was a special moment and made me quite happy.

We did finally get down to the chocolate store, and they make the chocolates right there. You can watch the small factory where the candies are made, and the store wisely leaves the factory windows open so you can smell the chocolate. If I recall correctly, we bought over 1.5 pounds of chocolate (most of it was mine, I have to admit). With our evening goodies well in hand, we made our way back to the car and drove the 15 minutes or so to our B and B, a cabin called “A Little Slice of Heaven.”

The “Little Slice of Heaven” cabin is very pretty, and only has capacity for two groups of guests. We had to share the place with another couple who showed up late on Tuesday and left early on Wednesday, so they were no bother at all. We had the place all to ourselves on Wednesday night. The cabin is small, but has lots of woodwork and all the features we wanted in a B and B – a TV with DVD player for movies, a nice stereo for music, and a whirlpool bath for luxury. We let ourselves in and unpacked, and Meredith polished off her book she was reading while I quality-tested the bed by taking a nap.

We decided to deliberately strike out and explore new places that evening. Usually when we go to Amish country, we just go to Der Dutchman. The friend who owns the B and B strongly encouraged us to get on the back roads and see things, so we did. It was good advice. We took a bunch of back roads through lots of farm country. We saw several horse-and-buggy teams on the road, and we had little trouble getting to our restaurant of choice, Grandma’s Homestead. I figured we had decided on a decent place when I saw a hitch rail with several horses tied up to it. I know that much of Holmes County is touristy, but I took it as a good sign if the local Amish ate there from time to time.

Mer and I ate another excellent meal, and we even tried to be light by getting sandwiches since we were still full from lunch and chocolates. I was thwarted in trying to avoid dessert when I found out my meal came with free dessert. I got some custard ice cream with Oreos mixed in. I was okay, but I need to remember to stick with baked goods when in Amish Country – that is where the desserts really excel.

We went back to the B and B where we relaxed by watching the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers classic Top Hat. The music and fun nature of the film suited my mood quite well, and it was a very nice way to end a very pleasant day.

July 4th was a Saturday this year, and nothing says “Freedom” like a road trip to go see outdoor sculpture. So, we headed off early to go to the Meijer Sculpture Gardens in Grand Rapids, which was about 90 minutes away. It was a fine day, with some clouds, but we figured that between the slight threat of rain and the holiday, we would have the gardens mostly to ourselves, which turned out to be pretty accurate. The rain never came, and so we had a warm but not sunburn-likely day, which is pretty ideal for me.

Getting to the gardens was uneventful, and Meredith was tickled to see that it was right across the street from Cornerstone University, where she has had several students go. We parked in the lightly-populated parking lot, and made our way inside. We paid, and used the restrooms, and saw that there were some inside exhibits, but made our way outside pretty quickly in case it were to rain. We grabbed a map from the inside info desk, and armed with this, Meredith was able to plan our orderly tour of the grounds. We immediately dismissed the idea of a guided tour via tram (neither of us likes tram tours since you cannot always linger at a place). Mer decided to circle around the outside of the park, strongly encouraged by me since it was a wooden walkway through some wetlands. I like walkways. The wetlands were pretty, and had some animal sculptures placed in the trees and bushes and that pleased us both very much. The gardens overall did a very nice job of incorporating the sculptures with the landscape, even when the sculptures were abstract.

The walkway ended near the “farm” area of the gardens, with pretty farm buildings and sculptures of farm animals. We poked around the barn (which had been moved to the gardens from elsewhere) and farmhouse (which really just held bathrooms), and then Mer kicked into gentle tour-mode. We took the wandering garden paths in a gentle stroll, but in a manner that would allow us to see the entire gardens without have to backtrack much. There are several areas of the gardens that are quite isolated, with sculptures down shielded paths, and the largest sculptures are spaced quite a bit apart, so nowhere does the park feel cramped or crowded.

We did end up seeing the entire park. I think it took about 5 hours, plus a little more to see the inside exhibits. I liked most of the pieces I saw, and I do not remember being made angry by any of the modern pieces. I do give much more allowance for abstract sculpture for some reason. I generally like it, especially when it is outside. I think the abstract pieces are better when surrounded by trees. Some of my favorite works included:

A horse sculpture that looks for all the world like it is made of driftwood, and it looks like a horse Death would ride. It is actually made of bronze, but it really does look like wood. It is pretty remarkable.

A huge horse sculpture that is one of the main works of the Gardens. Here we came across a family with two small children. They were running around under the sculpture, and the dad announced they had to move on. As they ran under the sculpture, the older of the two children (who was probably four) looked up and announced “Daddy! This horse is a boy horse!” I found that rather amusing.

There were a pair of very whimsical dragons in the children’s section of the park which made me think of a former student of mine and made me convinced that Mer and I need to kidnap her and take her to the Gardens to see these creations. 

There was a sculpture of an old man and a young girl, and I think it was just called The Storyteller. I’d love to be a good storyteller someday, so I liked the piece.

There were many more sculptures around, and they were quite wonderful. I strongly recommend swinging by Grand Rapids if you are ever even close to the area. You can spend a quite delightful 4-6 hours here.

We did also look at the indoor exhibits, which had a special exhibit featuring works by Calder, who invented the mobile (sculptures that hang and balance from string or wire), as well as huge steel sculptures that can be found worldwide (including Grand Rapids). There are regular indoor exhibits as well that included a carnivorous plant exhibit and a Victorian garden. It really is a wonderful place to visit, and Mer and I want to go back in the fall and winter to see how the grounds change.

Once we were back to the car, Meredith asked if we could swing by the three nearby colleges where she either had students attending or where she had known people who had gone there. She likes to be able to visualize the campuses. Since they were close, I agreed, so we popped across the street to the small but nice campus of Cornerstone University. We made the circuit of campus in just a few minutes, and so proceeded on to the other side of town to Calvin University. Calvin has a much bigger campus, and is more traditional- looking, with more brick buildings, paths, and many trees. Even driving, it took us over 10 minutes to get around the entire campus. It just seemed to go on and on.

We hit the highway and headed back south. Our last stop was to be in Holland, home of Hope College. We got off at the Holland exit and proceeded in to town, and it looked pretty bland – huge strip malls and nondescript housing areas. Mer’s friend had always talked about how cute the college and town were, and I have to admit that I was skeptical. We pushed on and drove into the real downtown, the historical area. It was charming. There were traditional shops that faced wide sidewalks, with restaurants and bookstores and music shops. We drove around Hope College, and it was fairly contained (about 1 block by 2 blocks), but it was very pretty. I needed to use a restroom, so we stopped and wandered around a bit. We found a great bakery that served unusual, large, chocolate desserts, and we were quite won over. We hope to get back to Holland again soon as well.

Once we got back to Mom and Marc’s place, we told them about our day, and then the four of us went downstairs to watch the movie Doubt. It is a film about a Catholic priest who is accused of molesting a boy in his school, and the film revolves around how one can prove something like that. It was quite excellent and thought- provoking. Oddly, Marc and I felt for the priest, while Mom and Mer felt more for the nun who was defending the child. A very good film – I recommend it.

We went home on Sunday, and picked up with a pleasant stay-at-home summer (including going to see The Winter’s Tale for free with our friends Matt and Lis). However, so that I can soon get back to live blogging, I’ll wrap up the entire month of July with this journaling of a very good vacation.

Thursday (July 2nd), we tried another Michigan parks trail. This time it was a small free park called Warren Woods. The trail head again had no map, but the trail was in okay condition and in a pretty woods, so we felt fairly encouraged. This was furthered when the trail began to border a small ravine with a stream at the bottom – it was pretty with the promise of getting much prettier. We crested a hill and found some stairs leading to a beautiful wide wooden foot bridge. This was a very happy find, and so we strolled across the bridge to see what awaited on the other side. Here, the Michigan trail fantasy ended. On the other side of this fantastic bridge the trail abruptly ended in a swamp. We thought that maybe things had been wet and the trail might continue on the other side of the swampy area, but we saw no evidence of that and were getting swarmed by mosquitoes. So, Warren Woods trail turned out to be a great 3/4 of a mile long trail. We headed back to the car.

We drove up to Silver Beach in St. Joe’s to walk around the town and the beach. The town was building a carousel and ballroom near the beach; I will be excited to see how that turns out someday. I support a ballroom! The day was very windy, and so the beach was not overly crowded, although there were quite a few people out anyway. We walked along the beach and headed toward the dual breakwater/lighthouses of Silver Beach. The pier cautions people against walking along it, but it is very wide and fairly smooth, so people walk and fish all along the structure. We wandered out to the edge and watched the waves come crashing over the concrete, and we got to see a sailboat go out on the very choppy lake. After a very leisurely time, we headed back to the car and headed home. Happily, Mom and Marc came in that night, so we got to see them some that evening.

On Friday, we headed out with Mom and Marc in their car. They agreed to drop us off at Weko Dunes State Park. If you walk into the park, it costs nothing to get in, and then it is about a two mile hike back along the beach to get back to the Weko city park. We thought that would be fun. It was a very pretty day, and the Weko Dunes beach was absolutely mobbed. It was funny – there were what felt like thousands of people all in fairly close proximity, but if you wandered a little ways along the beach, the crowds disappeared. I guess it is hard to walk to uncrowded areas with a cooler, beach umbrella, and a four-year-old in tow.

The walk was quite nice, all in all. It turns out much of the walk was easiest if we walked in the water. There, the sand had been compressed into a hard surface that was pretty easy to walk on, plus the water was cool. On the occasions where rocks drove us back to the sand of the beach, the walking was much harder and a lot hotter. I’m not sure how long it took us to walk the whole way back to Weko Beach, but it was long enough that I was glad I did not have to turn around and do it again to get back to a car.

Back at the house, Aunt Linda and Uncle Kenny showed up, and so we had quite a crew for dinner (six in all). After dinner, we headed down to the beach to see the sunset, and as a bonus, the beach had three trumpet players playing “Taps” as the sun set. It is tradition for someone to play “Taps” at the beach when the sun goes down, but it is very unusual to get three trumpet players on one evening. It was a very pretty way to end a pretty day.

Okay. After weeks of being depressed at how far behind my blog had gotten, I have made the radical decision to skip most of the summer. Imagine I did lots of fun things and ate too much, and you would not be far from the truth. I have decided that I did need to blog about a couple of summer things, though. We took two trips this summer – 6 days in Michigan at Mom’s place over the Fourth of July, and 3 days in Amish country in August for our anniversary celebration. I’ll get to the August trip in the next day or two.

Since this was the second summer of trying to sell our old house, we needed to look for a vacation on-the-cheap. Mom’s place in Michigan is very beautiful and has the wonderful merit of being free. Also, Mom and Marc would be there on the weekend and that would be fun, so off to Michigan we went.

We left on Monday, June 30th. We had stuck around until Monday because Mer’s parents were in town over the weekend for Aunt Mary’s 70th birthday party on Saturday the 27th (a big shindig I wish I could blog about). At any rate, we left on Monday. Mom’s place is only five-and-a-half hours away, so we got there in good time. At this point, I’m not sure what we did that evening, but my guess is we played games for the evening.

The next day (Tuesday) we started off with our usual visit to Sammie’s Diner for breakfast. Sammie’s has huge breakfasts that are pretty cheap, so we are fond of the place. Later in the day, we headed down to South Bend to see our friends Gen and Dan. We had not seen them in almost two years, and they had added a new member of the family in that time. So, we got to meet Ellie, who is very cute and seems very good-natured. Gen’s dad came over, and we all headed over to a very good Mediterranean restaurant, Elia’s. Gen and Dan were excited that we wanted to go there; it seems that their South Bend friends are reluctant to get Mediterranean cuisine. We had a good time together, and headed back to Gen and Dan’s place for a little while. Since we still had a 40-minute drive, we had to leave around 9:00 or so, but I do have to say my addiction to dessert, especially after eating out, got the better of me. After getting gas, I pulled in to the Perkins restaurant next to the gas station to get dessert. It was yummy.

Wednesday was the first of July, and it was a nice day. Mer and I wanted to find some places to hike in the area. We like hiking in Ohio, and the parks around us are well maintained and free. So, we set out to find a park. We landed on going to Grand Mere state park. It had a slightly confusing gate. It was supposed to cost $8 to get in, but there was no ranger. The information kiosk was stuffed with a diaper, and the lock-box-looking thing seemed to be in disrepair and looked as if the money might just fall out. I felt bad about it, but given all of that, we just went into the park.

I’m afraid to say that Michigan parks (we checked out another one or two over the week) make Ohio parks shine. Grand Mere was the best of the parks we found, but there was no ranger, there were no trail maps, and the main trail was next to a swamp and so the place was swarming with mosquitoes. We walked along for about a half a mile, and had resolved to turn around and leave shortly if we did not get away from the bugs, when we found a trail that went (very steeply) up a sand dune. So, we took that. The dune was very difficult to get up, but once we did, there was a breeze and no bugs. The dunes kept going up, so we kept climbing, and were given wonderful views of the lake. We tromped around the dunes and headed down to the beach. We meandered around the beach for some time and had fun watching the lake and people and a very happy stick-fetching dog. We eventually returned back up the dune and went back to the car.

We headed further north and went to South Haven. It had been recommended to us as a very cute town, and it was. It had turned cool and was spitting rain, so I don’t think we saw it at its best. We did duck into a diner/ice cream parlor for lunch, and then headed over to the South Bend Chocolate Factory for dessert. A huge piece of chocolate cake caught my eye, so we got that. It turned out to be a pretty shocking $12, but we split it, so that was less shocking. The cake weighed in at over a pound and was quite delicious. Certainly not a treat to have on a regualr basis, but it was nice on vacation.

We headed back home from there, and in approaching Silver Beach we had the happy timing to be the first in line at a drawbridge that went up for a huge freight ship. It took about 20 minutes, but I liked watching both the bridge and the boat, so I did not mind (I was actually pretty excited about it). We made it the rest of the way home and, in the mood for it, we watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

I’ll write more about the other three days tomorrow. For now, it is good that the blog bridge has come back down and I can proceed again.

Happy anniversary, my dearest love! Eleven years and still having a ball. I love you!

Meredith wrote this last Friday, the day Bocca died. We wrote our own memorials so we would have more memories of our wonderful kitty.

Loving Bocca

“We’re not going to be able to bring him home until next week,” Matt explained.  To my confused look, he replied, “Well, you see, he’s … different.  He was in the shelter’s Socialization Program – it’s for, well, I guess what you’d call Special Needs kitties.  If people want to adopt one of these cats, they have to wait a week – the shelter wants to make especially sure they’re committed to the adoption.”

“I see.  And what kind of ‘Special Need’ does he have?”

“Uh, well, they think he might not adjust well to the new environment at first.  But he was so cute and sweet in the shelter, I just had to pick him.  He picked me, really.”

Returning from the shelter a week later, Matt brought the box into our bedroom and opened it.  I got only a blurry glimpse of tiger stripes as the cat scrambled frantically out of the box and under our queen-sized bed, stopping at its exact center, just out of reach and impervious to our entreaties that he come closer.  All I could see were its glowing green eyes.

When we realized that the cat had no intention of coming out from under the bed anytime soon, we shoved bowls of food and water under there with him – shortly followed by a litter box.  “Cats can live a long time,” I reminded Matt.  “Are we going to be shoving food, water, and litter under the bed for the next eighteen years or so?  I mean, we’ll do what we have to, but it’s not exactly what I had in mind for cat ownership.”

As it turned out, we only had to do this for about three weeks, and even toward the end of that time, the cat would come closer to our outstretched hands.  The first day he let me touch him, I felt we’d had a breakthrough only slightly less miraculous than that of Anne Sullivan with Helen Keller.  Several days later, he finally came out from under the bed for short spells.  And several days after that, he was roaming throughout the apartment.

Though we’d chosen the name “Bocca” – Italian for “mouth” – before bringing him home, the name proved an apt one:  he loved to talk, and he loved to eat.  His voice was not the most dulcet-toned of meows, but he generally saved his particularly strident vocalizing for when he wanted food.  We said he was world’s sweetest kitty everywhere except in the kitchen.  To distract him while we dished up his food, we would sing him one of the little songs we made up:  “What is it, Bocca? (3x)  Oh, why do you cry so?  Why do you cry? (3x)  Oh, why do you cry so?”  This one we sang in harmony.  The other one didn’t lend itself so easily to a harmony part, but had an echo:  “Bocca Bo-Sweet (Bocca Sweet, Bocca Sweet), on his little kitty feet (kitty feet, kitty feet) – oh, we sure think he’s neat (think he’s neat, think he’s neat) – he’s Bocca Bo-Sweet (Bocca Sweet, Bocca Sweet).” 

Not surprisingly, given his appetite, Bocca got rather large – about twenty pounds, at his heaviest.  When one of our friends came over for dinner and saw him for the first time, she gasped and said, “That cat looks as if he’s swallowed a meatloaf!”   

The only thing Bocca craved more than food was love.  We used this to explain his size, telling ourselves, “It takes a lot of cat to hold that much love.”  Some people think of cats as aloof, but this one certainly wasn’t.  He got into the habit of waiting by the door when he knew I was about to come home.  Then, when I tried to walk in, he’d flop down in front of my feet until I gave him some loving attention.

For a long time, Matt was his favorite if we were on the couch.  Matt preferred to eat Roman-style, reclining, and Bocca would curl up next to his stomach.  He had an aversion to laps – unless we covered our laps with blankets.  During the last couple years, the blankets were no longer necessary, and our sitting down was often enticement enough for him to come running to make himself comfortable, giving us a firm head-butt if we forgot to keep petting him.

At night, Bocca was more likely to sleep on my side of the bed, usually down by my feet, but if he sensed me waking up, he’d move to be by my head or chest, where I could reach him to rub his belly or scritch his ears.  Because of his ongoing eagerness for affection, we called him the Love Sponge – he soaked it all up.

Whenever we went away on trips, Bocca would mark our return by not letting us out of sight for at least an hour or so, following us from room to room as if to make sure we weren’t about to leave again.

Bocca’s gentle, loving nature also kept him from being aggressive with our two other cats – which is fortunate, since for most of his life the “Meatloaf Kitty” was almost as big as the two of them put together, and could probably have done some real harm if he’d been so inclined.  But they picked on him decidedly more often than he picked on them, and we’d urge him to overcome that sweet, pacifist nature and put the littler ones in their place.  When he wouldn’t, we’d intervene, chasing the others to different rooms for “kitty time outs” while we comforted Bokey. 

While he almost never started fights with our other cats, Bocca had no qualms about releasing any pent-up hostilities on rodentkind.  His first Christmas with us, one of our relatives had given us a stuffed cat-toy – a mouse about the size of a large rat.  We tossed it to Bocca to see what he’d do with it.  He immediately grabbed its head in his mouth, rolled over on his back, and, in just seconds, disemboweled it with the claws of his hind feet.  Stuffing was everywhere, so the first time he got to play with this toy was also the last.

At the time, we wondered if Bocca would prove similarly fierce if he encountered a real mouse.  Several mice later, we now know the answer – although he never disemboweled any (thank goodness), he was indeed a capable mouser, and proud of his skills.  In fact, my first day of summer vacation, when I’d been so looking forward to sleeping in, began much too early, as I was awakened by his muffled cries of triumph – muffled because he had a mouth full of mouse, of course. 

That was only six or seven weeks ago.  That particular “Bocc-alarm” was not the reveille with which I’d wished to begin my long-awaited break, but I’d give much to hear it again.  We’d noticed Bocca getting thinner – too rapidly, we feared, and yet besides increasing boniness he had no other symptoms of ill health.  If anything, he seemed healthier in some ways – when heavier, he had sometimes wheezed while he slept, or had had trouble jumping up onto the bed.  At this lighter weight, he was able to leap nimbly from the back of one couch to another, something we’d never seen him attempt in his younger but fatter days.  

Because of the weight loss, we had taken Bocca to the vet in January, but no problems were found.  In the ensuing months, he gained back a couple pounds, and we assumed he’d be with us for a few more years.  But then the weight loss happened again, more quickly and more drastically than before.  When his voice started to become higher and feebler, and when he began spending time in half-hidden nooks and crannies he’d never frequented previously – like beside the toilet, or at the back of the linen closet – we made another appointment with the vet.

It was too late – some disease we never caught the name of, but the prognosis was clear:  several months at the most, if he responded to the medications.

Bocca used to be such a strong cat that we were physically incapable of forcing him into his carrier, so whenever it was time to update his vaccinations, we’d find a vet who made housecalls.  I still remember coming home from work one day and being met at the door by Matt.  Agitated and breathing hard, he opened the door only a crack to say, “The vet and I are having trouble cornering Bokey.  It isn’t pretty.  Why don’t you take a walk around the block a few times before coming back?”  From inside, I heard the frantic yowls of a terrified cat, and decided I’d take my husband’s advice about that walk.

Moving from Chicago was wretched.  Bocca’s panicked yowlering, from a carrier on the front seat of the U-Haul, was shredding Matt’s nerves so badly before we even left the city that he recruited the aid of his mother and her boyfriend – one of them drove their car and one drove mine, so that I could sit in the cab of the truck with Bocca, petting him constantly, all the way to Ohio, to keep him quiet.

It wasn’t like that this time.  Too weak to put up much physical or verbal protest, Bocca let Matt take him to the vet for the diagnosis and pills.  And then back again a couple days later, for longer-lasting shots, because we couldn’t get him to swallow the pills.  And then back again for fluids, because we couldn’t get him to eat or drink.

The vet visits of the past couple weeks were a far cry from those early housecalls, but in one way Bokey had come full circle:  he was once again back in our bedroom.  He’d started his years with us in the bedroom solely because the bed was the most immediate sanctuary he found when Matt first opened his box.  This time, though, he was with us by choice – ours and his.  We wanted to be close to this creature who’d given us so much joy and asked only for food and affection in return.  Not content to be on the floor, where he had access to food, water, and litter, but lacking the strength to jump up on the bed to join us, he would cry or look up at us piteously until we put him on the bed between us, where he could be loved and petted from both directions.

Even this morning, he wanted to be with us.  Even this morning, when it had been several days since he’d eaten or drunk on his own.  Even this morning, when he could no longer hold his head up, and his breathing became labored.  Matt called the vet one more time.

The earliest appointment we could get was at 11:00.  I had to do some work in my classroom, so Matt and I walked to school together, and back again a little after 10:30.  He brought up the cat carrier from the basement.  Unable to say so, we both knew the carrier would be coming home empty.

Matt didn’t bother to bring the carrier into the vet’s with us – he just lifted Bocca gently into his arms and held him on his lap in the waiting room, while I petted him.  As Bocca struggled to breathe, Matt and I did too, choking on our tears.  One of the vet’s assistants brought us a box of tissues, and the other woman waiting, who’d been there before us, urged the vet to see us first.  We brought Bocca into the room and laid him on the table.  The vet got out his stethoscope and listened for a heartbeat, but found none.  Bocca had passed away in Matt’s arms only moments before, giving us the last gift it was in his power to bestow:  he spared us from deciding that we had to have him put to sleep.

On that harrowing moving-day ride through Chicago, eight years ago, my own stress and hormones were taking their toll, despite the fact that I was driving my own car at that point, and wasn’t even within earshot of Bokey’s heartrending howls.  Praying aloud that Bocca would calm down, would not be so scared, would stop crying, I began crying myself.  “God, please,” I wailed.  “He’s just a kitty – he never gave us anything but love!”  I cried the same prayer again today.  

I know he was “only a cat.”  I know there are people going through far worse ordeals, and I know lots of people have gone through this one.  I know.  I do.  But I miss him so much.  That Special Needs kitty Matt brought home just a couple months after we got married has been one of my life’s most consistent blessings over the past eleven years.  And although I’m not sure what the situation will be regarding animals in heaven, I’m really hoping that when I one day reach my own “mansion just over the hilltop,” I’ll open the door to find a green-eyed tiger cat flopping down in front of my feet, meowing insistently as if to say, “Thank goodness you’re finally home!”

Our sweetest cat, Bocca, died last Friday morning. We had found out about two weeks ago (on Monday the 13^th) that Bocca had a terminal disease. He had been losing weight for months, and the vet could not find anything wrong with Bocca when I took him to the vet’s last spring. We hoped it was due to older age (Bocca was about 13), and we kept an eye on him. He rebounded for a few weeks and put some weight back on, but then started losing it again. Finally, his voice started sounding high and weaker than it normally was, so I took him in to the vet’s again. This time, the vet was able to tell immediately that Bocca’s kidneys were swollen to three times their normal size. He said that meant either cancer or, more likely, an immune system disease that was attacking the kidneys. Either way, he indicated it was a terminal disease. He said we could try to treat it with antibiotics and appetite stimulants, and Bocca might get as much as 6 more months. If he did not respond to treatments, the vet said he might have as little as a week. Sadly, Bocca did not respond to the medicines, and we got 12 more days with him, of which the last 5 or so were very difficult on us and on Bocca. He just kept getting weaker and weaker, and he stopped eating last Sunday and stopped going to the bathroom last Tuesday or so. He could no longer walk, and had trouble even moving (crawling) on his own the last few days, especially Thursday and Friday. He would show some brief improvement to medications or fluids or special foods, so we never lost hope. Still, he had a rough Thursday night, so we made the decision to take Bocca in to the vet’s on Friday to see if there was anything left to try, but with the likely decision to put Bocca to sleep so he would not suffer. The vet got us in at 11:00. We took Bocca in, and sat in the waiting room. He was so weak that I did not feel he needed to be in a cage, so I held him and Meredith petted him. He let out a soft cry and moved once or twice, so I tried to make him comfortable. He settled in my arms, but his breathing was very labored. Mer and I were both crying, and a very nice lady gave up her spot to let us go first. We went in the examination room, and the doctor listened for a heartbeat. There was none. Bocca had died in my arms. The world’s sweetest cat had given us one more sweet gift – he had saved us from having to make the decision to put him to sleep.

Flash back to 1998. Meredith and I had gotten married in August, and we knew we wanted two kitties to make our apartment into a home. We both loved cats, and felt a home was not really a home without them. Mer did not feel as if she could go to a cat shelter and pick just one kitty (we were each going to pick one cat), so she had her good friend and former roommate Laura go with me to the shelter. So, in October of ’98, we went to Mer’s old neighborhood to a no-cage, no-kill shelter called Tree House. It was a three-story building with cats kept (mostly) on the upper floors. Laura and I went upstairs with a Tree House representative, and we saw a few kittens. There was a very small and fluffy kitten who had just (as in while we were in the lobby) been returned since the owner discovered she had allergies. Laura fell in love with the kitten, and so Macska (“Cat” in Hungarian) was adopted by the Riordan household by proxy. We continued to look around the shelter at the full-grown cats. I do not have a very distinct recollection of them now, 11 years later (I’m sure they were very cute). At some point, the Tree House representative asked me if I wanted to see the cats in the “socialization room.” These two rooms were where they kept cats that needed more time to get used to being with other cats and people. The outer room was a room for cats that had graduated from the other room; these were cats that still had some issues, but were getting close to being in the general population. I looked around this room, and there were cats everywhere. In the middle of the room was a platform of some kind (I think it was a fake tree, but it may have been a table). On this platform were two or three cats, and one of them was flopping and rolling around as we approached. The Tree House worker scratched the kitty on the belly, and he rolled around some more. I was charmed. I looked at other cats in the place, but the flopping, rolling tiger kitty had claimed me. I indicated that I wanted to adopt him. I was told there was a waiting period of one week to adopt a “socialization room” cat, but that did not deter me. We signed the papers and took Macska home, and I told Meredith we could get the other kitty, whom we decided to call Bocca (“Mouth” in Italian), in a week.

I went back to the Tree House to get Bocca, and they put him in a cardboard carrying case. I don’t remember if he cried much during the 15-minute trip, but based on later experience, I’m pretty sure he did. I looked in my rear-view mirror to see Bocca thrust his head through the top of the box and jump out. I quickly closed my window, but it was unnecessary as Bocca cowered in the very back of my hatchback. Once I got home, I climbed over all the seats to get into the hatchback without opening the doors. I got Bocca back into the cardboard carrier, and quickly got him in the apartment. Mer was waiting, and I opened the lid. Bocca stuck his head up, jumped out, and bolted straight into our bedroom and under the bed. He did not come out while we were around for at least a week. Mer was not really sure what he looked like, but the glimpses she could get by looking under the bed showed her a very handsome tiger cat with beautiful green eyes. We shoved food, water, and litter under the bed for several days, and Mer began to think I was crazy for picking a cat we would never see. Then, one evening when we were watching TV, we saw Bocca poke his head around the corner. He was very skittish and nervous, but he had come out from under the bed and immediately found his way into our hearts.

Bocca would always be skittish, even up to the last weeks of his life. Any loud noise would cause him to start up, and he would run into the bedroom and hide anytime someone knocked or rang the doorbell. If we had guests, it would take him hours, or even a full day (if they were spending the night) to come out to see what was going on.

As indicated early on by his breaking out of his cardboard box on the way home, Bocca was immensely strong for a cat. He may be the strongest cat I have ever encountered. Bocca got out of our apartment once the first few months when the door did not latch (the only time he ever got out of our home in 11 years). Happily, he went up the stairs to the second floor instead of going down the stairs toward the outside door. I heard him crying (he had a loud and desperate yowl when scared), and I ran upstairs and scooped him up. He did not resist being picked up, but as soon as I set foot in the apartment, he gave a mighty heave, scratched me and got away and ran under the bed. I still have the scar on my right arm.

We needed to take Bocca to the vet once right after we moved to Ohio in 2001. Shannon was over, and he said he would help capture Bocca. We isolated the downstairs as much as possible by closing doors, and warned Shannon that Bocca was very strong. Shannon told us not to worry; he had never had a cat get away from him before once he had the cat scruffed. I can still see Shannon diving at Bocca in the living room, getting him in a lock in his arms, and Bocca struggling madly. Bocca got away. Shannon got up off the floor and proclaimed  Bocca to be one heck of a strong cat.

Even with Bocca being strong and skittish, he was still one of the sweetest and most loving cats I have ever seen. Once he got used to us, he loved being with me and Mer. Unless he was deeply asleep, if we were home and on the couch, so was Bocca. When we went to bed, Bocca almost always came with us. Mer and I like to watch TV while we eat supper – it helps us unwind. For years we had a full-sized couch, and I would lie on my side facing the TV and Mer would sit up on one end of the couch. Bocca always had to be “in my curl” – he had to be curled up next to my stomach and curled-up legs. Many times, he was jumping onto the couch before I was even fully on the couch. When Mer graded on the couch, he was usually on the couch or on the back of the couch. Once I started having back problems, I started sitting up to eat. When that happened, Bocca adjusted by claiming the middle cushion on the couch. Mer would have one cushion, I would have one, and Bocca would have his own. That was a little sad for me; in our house, we have “kitty privilege” – when someone has a kitty, the kitty cannot be disturbed, so the other person has to wait on the kittied one. For years, I had perpetual kitty privilege when on the couch. Once I sat up, Bocca had his own cushion, and as often as not he would snuggle with Meredith.

Once we moved up to our current house, our couch wore out. We swapped it with a love seat that we had, but it only has two cushions. This created a bit of a space crisis since Bocca still wanted his own cushion. He got very good at wedging himself between us, and even started lying down on Mer’s lap. This was pretty amazing – for years Bocca would never sit in anyone’s lap, unless the lap was covered by a blanket. Our best guess was he never realized he was on a lap when it was covered up. But, for the last two years, especially the last year, Bocca has loved being on laps. He especially loved being on Mer’s lap, and would often leave mine once she sat down.

Bocca adored Meredith. There was no way around that. He simply loved her more than me. I am okay with that, since Bocca loved me too, but he loved his “Momma” best. I could always tell when Meredith was about to get home in the car because Bocca’s ears would perk up. I have no idea how he knew, but he did. He would leave my lap to go to hers, he would leave my side in bed to go to hers, he more often than not curled up by her feet for the night. Sometimes he would come to me when I called, but many times he would not. I’d then tell Mer to call “her” cat, and he would come over to us. Even in the penultimate week of his life, after we found out he was very sick, I was trying to get Bocca to come to the top of the bed so I could pet him. He was at the foot of the bed, and would not come. I told Mer to come and call him. She sat down and called him and he immediately came to the top of the bed to “get some lovin’.”  Even when he was so sick he could not walk, he still tried to climb up on the bed to get to Meredith. That cat absolutely loved love.

If I would carry Bocca to the bed with me, most of the time he would stay for a few minutes, but then he would jump down to go be with Mer. He would stay with her while she graded. He might be on the floor or on the coffee table on her papers, or he might be on the couch with her, but he loved being with her. The oddest display of this was in the last year we were in the New Baltimore house, when Mer took to reading or grading in a glider/rocker. Bocca loved her and wanted to be with her, but there was not very much room. His solution was to jump to the back of the chair and curl up around her neck like a shawl. It was very cute (but not always comfortable for Mer).

Bocca loved to eat as well. He was a snacker, eating small amounts all day long. Due to Macska having some digestive issues, we started feeding the cats special canned food once a day in the evening. If you forgot to feed the kitties, Bocca was there to remind you. He was a sweet cat, but his “feed me” cry was loud and grating. We told him he had an unlovely voice at times like that. He did not care as long as he got fed. Bocca eventually topped out right around 20 pounds. When I would carry him to bed, I carried him like a football – in both my arms, with his legs sticking straight down and his tail straight back. It was a pretty funny sight. One of our friends on seeing Bocca for the first time proclaimed, “It looks as if that cat has swallowed a meatloaf!” We always said that it took a lot of cat to hold that much love.

The weight started to have an effect on Bocca once we moved to our current house. Before he started losing his weight, he was having difficulty jumping up on the couches. He was still almost 20 pounds, and he was at the time about 11 years old. I think it was just too much for him. He then started losing weight because of the disease, but it gave him a very good year because of it. He was able to jump around on things again once he got down under 15 pounds. I think he enjoyed it. He took to jumping to the love seat by first getting on the old couch and leaping over to the love seat, a distance of about three feet. Our other two cats have never done that, but Bocca did it several times a week. I think he was just having fun.

Bocca had a few odd quirks. He loved shoes. He really loved shoes. If we left a pair of shoes lying around, he would lean on them while lying down. He loved to prop himself up while lying down. He would  lean on shoes, books, book bags, and he often propped himself up on the bricks of the woodstove hearth in the old house. He would lean against it with his shoulders above the brick line, and have one paw stretched straight out across the bricks. He looked for all the world like he was lounging at a bar. It could not have been very comfortable, but he did it all the time.

Bocca also used to flop hard on the floor. He would go from standing and fling himself down, sometimes on his side, and sometimes rolling over to his belly. He would do this when he wanted lovin’ and sometimes he would flop right in front of you while you walked. On rare occasions, he would even get up and flop in front of you again.

Bocca was the sweetest cat I have ever seen, to us. But if you were small and furry, then heaven help you. Bocca was a tremendously accomplished hunter. He caught and killed his last mouse just six weeks before he died. Right after we adopted Bocca, we gave him a slightly larger-than-life stuffed mouse. He grabbed it in his front paws, rolled over, and then raked it with his back paws. Stuffing flew everywhere. He had the mouse toy completely gutted in about one minute. It was most impressive.

We had a toy we called “the bird.” It was a few feathers on the end of a string on the end of a pole. When you whipped the pole around, the feathers would fly about and make a noise like a bird in flight. All the cats liked it, but Bocca was amazing at catching it. He would leap three or more feet straight up in the air (remember, he was over 15 pounds!) and catch it. Once he had it, it was very difficult to get him to let it go; I usually had to reach down and pry his paws off of it. He would then try to attack it again.

We had a mouse mini-infestation this spring where Bocca caught four mice. One night, I was trying to get him to let one of the mice go; he was playing with it by letting it go and catching it again, and I did not want the mouse to suffer. I wanted to catch it and let it go outside. I managed to get the mouse away from Bocca briefly, but he caught it again very quickly. He then very deliberately walked over to my boots that were on the floor. He stuck his head in my boot and let the mouse go in there, despite my “Not in the boot!” cries. At least I was able to get the mouse outside at that point.

Bocca had many endearing qualities: coming when we called, flopping on the floor for love, wanting to be on the couch and bed with us. But one of the more endearing qualities was displayed in the mornings. Bocca would often sleep at the foot of the bed, usually on Meredith’s side. He would stay there peacefully all night as far as I know. But as soon as we moved at all when waking up, he would come to the head of the bed for lovin’. If we ignored him, he would settle down again, usually curling up around Mer’s head. He would lie there and purr. We called it the “Bocca-lo” – part cat, part pillow.

In the last year, Bocca surprised us both. At night he started curling up with me, at least for a little while (he would then move back over to Mer). He always had to be up by my head, and always on the edge of the bed. He would wedge himself in the space even if I was already occupying it. It was very cute. He also started wedging himself in between us more often. We often joked about the “chastity cat” keeping us apart, but it made it possible for Bocca to be loved by both of us. Maybe at some level he knew what was happening to himself, and he wanted all the love he could get while he could get it.

Mer and I used to sing to Bocca. We had two songs we would sing to him all the time. One we would usually sing to him while we were dishing up his food and he would cry. Mer would sing beautiful harmony to it.

The other song we would sing just as a ditty, almost absentmindedly.

Bocca was a wonderful cat. We love our other two cats as well, but Bocca loved us in a very special way. He was sweet, and he really enjoyed being with us. Our home is very much diminished with him gone. I have cried 6 times in my adult life. I cried once when my grandmother died and once when my grandfather died. I actually cried at a play once. I then cried once when I found out Bocca was sick, once during the last week of his life, and once the day he died. Our friend James coined the term “happiness time bomb” to describe pets. They provide joy to our lives, but in most cases we outlive them, and that causes great grief. I am happy and thankful to have had Bocca in my life for the last 11 years. I will miss him greatly.

Backblog – Friday, May 8th

May 8th saw my acting debut. This Friday was CVCA’s “prom” – the Junior-Senior Banquet where the kids get dressed up for a formal dinner, have some form of entertainment, and watch the senior video that is made by one of CVCA’s teachers as a service to the kids.

This year’s prom was at Hudson Country Club. It was a nice club, but did have one major drawback – to fit all the kids in they needed to use three separate rooms. While it made the dinner portion of the evening more intimate, it was weird not to see a large number of the students once everyone had been seated. The kids looked really nice, as usual. They take the evening quite seriously in its formal nature, and the guys look sharp in their tuxes and the girls look very pretty in their dresses. The main entrance was crowded this year – the main entrance also housed the photo line, so there was no good place to dress-watch with Meredith. We like to compare notes on what style and color of dresses we like. I felt as if I missed most of them this year since I was largely at my table for much of the evening.

Dinner was okay, but for some reason that I never fully understood, it was served about an hour late. That is a long time for people to mill about and chat, and it may have been that chatting that caused the food to be later than it otherwise would have been.

Several teachers, me and Mer included, made up an acting group that was to be the entertainment of the evening.We were performing a murder mystery, and the kids were organized into teams to guess who done it. We improvised a bit for the “auditorium” – we realized that we needed a lot of space to accommodate the students, so some quick thinkers cleared all the tables out of the way and set up chairs in rows. That way, we seemed able to seat about 90% of the students (the rest seemed content to talk with each other in the far dining rooms).

Mer and I were a married couple in the play. She was an impatient, wealthy, domineering wife who was mostly concerned for her three million dollar diamond ring (which she had locked in the school safe). I was a wimpy, brow-beaten husband who was an incessant gambler. So, we were pretty much typecast. What are you going to do? Anyway, our characters are at a presentation at a high school named after my character, and some of the students start to act up, so Mer loses her temper and storms off to get her diamond so she can leave the school (and never come back). She finds her diamond has been stolen, and the school security guard staggers onto the stage and dies in front of the students (to much effect). Thus the mystery part began. The cast of characters was fun – there were some “punk” kids, a cheerleader, a coach, a principal and his secretary, a thief, an FBI agent, a student protester, a couple of teachers, and our daughter (Mer and I had a daughter in the play). All these characters were played by CVCA teachers and spouses. It was a fun group.

Mer had worked very hard to memorize her lines. She had a ton of lines (maybe the most in the play – it was close), and she did very well, especially with her screaming, frantic run on stage after she discovers her diamond has been stolen. I also memorized my lines, but I think I only had about 12 lines in the whole play, so I pretty much picked them up from helping Mer run lines.

We had four practices in all. I think it came together very well for a bunch of non-actors with only four performances. Occasionally people forgot lines, and one time the coach forgot his lines and just started ranting in character. It was wonderfully funny, and the kids loved it. As fun as the play was, the practices were even better. We just all got along and laughed much of the time. One of our very sweet colleagues had to pull a gun on everyone at the end. To her credit, she had no idea how to hold a pistol, and we just all lost it. What a great group of people to work with.

We got to improvise some during an intermission. We were supposed to wander the crowd blaming each other, and generally being in character. I loved that part. It tied in nicely with my improv skills and I did not have to worry about lines.

So, I think the kids enjoyed the play. We got pretty positive feedback, and there seemed to be a lot of smiles around. After the play, we all watched the now-traditional senior video that shows baby pictures of all the seniors followed by their senior photo, and there are many group photos as well. Once the video was over, the formal part of the evening broke up and most people headed to “after party.”

After party is a parent-sponsored and run informal time after prom. It is held at the Cuyahoga Falls Natatorium, and it is a place for the kids to take their dates to go and hang out and have fun. There is tons of food, music, usually a couple of movies playing, various games (wallyball, racquetball, basketball, etc.), and there are some really good prizes given away at the end of the evening (iPods, TVs, DVD players, and so on). Mer and I stopped by after party, and once again had the joy of being mistaken for students (we were still in our formalwear). We ate more food, chatted with some colleagues, and wandered around to enjoy seeing the students having fun. We stayed for about an hour and then headed home. I’m just sad that my play closed on opening night.

Backblog – Saturday, May 1st

The theater-intensive week (four shows in eight days) was capped off with an original play, Tremont. Tremont is a Cleveland suburb, and the play was written by a Cleavland-area couple. This was the world premier run, and was taking place at Actors’ Summit Theater, where we had season tickets.

All of the action happens in a bar/pub in Tremont in the late 60s/early 70s. The set was effective, with two doors leading to other rooms (off stage), a full bar, and several tables. The play has a cast of six – the barkeep, a girl he is in love with who waitresses at the bar and is living in a spare room because her house has been broken into, her good-for-nothing brother (in flashbacks and later in the play), a factory worker who is either slightly slow or slightly mad, and an elderly couple who enjoy nitpicking at each other. I was familiar with all of the actors except the barkeep, and they were all excellent. The waitress was played by one of my favorite actors, who is tremendous. It was a very good cast.

The play captured the changing Tremont neighborhood that was going through hard times because the factories were shutting down. The cast was fairly small because those were the only customers who came into the place. The main three characters (the barkeep, waitress and her brother) had good compelling relationships on stage. The elderly couple was mainly comic relief, with some job of exposition on the no-good brother. The factory worker was a lovable, sweet character, and seemed to be there as a foil for the jerk brother to pick on when he shows back up looking for inheritance money.

The show was very solid on the whole. Mer and I both thought it could use a little tightening up in places; this is to be expected from a world premier. The elderly couple’s focus on bodily function humor goes well enough at first, but it is brought back repeatedly, and for too long. The play was a touch long – if ten to fifteen minutes could be cut out, it would be very crisp. It has tremendous promise of being a play that well captures the difficulties of family and community. Even as it was performed, it was still entertaining and thoughtful.