Collette: the short version

Collette and my 96-year-old mother have developed a friendship that sustains both of them.

As a beautiful yellow-eyed sable Burmese who knows her job description well, Collette attached herself to Mom in the summer of 2002 after a six-hour drive from California to Arizona in which she vocalized her fear and protest in clear cat language. I had taken her as a gift to Mom, who still mourned the loss of her second husband to cancer and the loss of her Yorkshire terrier, which she had given reluctantly to another owner. Despite the travel trauma, Collette quickly made herself comfortable in her new surroundings, making sure that Mom understood the distinctive Burmese qualities of playfulness, intelligence and undeniable loyalty.

Fast-forwarding seven years, Mom has some decisions to make. As a victim of emphysema and the subsequent susceptibility to pneumonia and bronchitis, she has experienced health complications in recent months. She has refused the option of moving into assisted living because she cannot take Collette, her best friend, with her. Instead, we have arranged for nurses and aides to come into her retirement center home to assist with health care, hygiene and other needs.
She and Collette will continue their daily routines, both depending on one another.

(Note: Collette is the product of Bon Marche' Burmese Cattery in Escondido, CA.)

What? It's mid-May?

I could (and do) beat myself up about lack of commitment and energy. How have five months passed without a visit to this project, which I intended to be a daily (or at least weekly) acknowledgment, reflection, observation, metaphor?

On the other hand, I can (and do) celebrate today and how I can spend it.

I have trouble saying this sentence: "I used to be a teacher."

When I mentioned this to a friend, she said, "You are a teacher; you're just not working at a school right now."

Yes, she speaks a truth. I am a teacher. I often find myself thinking about how I would work a current event into a lesson, how I might compare today's world to the classic literature of yesteryear, how I might reach today's students. I miss that part of my teaching, yet find tremendous relief from the day-to-day tedium and stress I had experienced in the most recent job. Still recovering from the sudden and unjust dismissal curtly handed to me on April 10 (Good Friday), I drift from doldrums to relief to righteous indignation.

Then I receive the gift of vindication. I spend an evening with former students I groomed in the Interact Club and treasure their hugs and appreciation. I read a Facebook message from a young woman who says that she has wanted for 20 years to find a way to thank me for my kindness and my inspiring the love of reading in her. I see a photograph online that I had sent to a young woman I taught in peer counseling, and I smile at her gratitude. I remember that I have saved "thank yous" over the years for a time like this, a time when I wonder what I will do next, a time when I wonder just what I have accomplished.

I know I have made a difference. That gift can fill me with gratitude and acceptance if I allow it.