The Literate Kitty

Yesterday was an anniversary, of sorts, for me, and I decided to sit down and write something about it. (It isn't a good memory--although it's an important one--so I don't let myself go back there too often.)  Writing has a way of opening your mind, though, and--as my fingers flew, in stops and starts across the keyboard, reliving moments from that day--I realized that something important was in the re-telling... a measure of grace, if you will. Just like that, what began as a cathartic exercise felt like a little story that needed telling.  So today, this post is a break from the usual reviews, to do just that: to share a moment of human experience. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ The Welfare Check You read things, in books… situations, small details, bits that you grasp, insomuch as you can, and then move on… to the next sentence, the next paragraph, the next chapter.  For me—lover of mysteries, crime tales, and thrillers—one of those “things” has always been the police. Technica...

I've never been one to give much thought to my relationship with my mother; she's just... Mom , and we've always been two very different people. Still, for all our problems--the mild annoyances, and those areas in which our opinions, beliefs, and attitudes do a complete 180 from each other--the inescapable fact is that I wouldn't be, precisely, who I am today... were it not for her. Am I going to spout some claptrap about how, with each passing year, I feel closer to her or understand her better? Um, that would be a big "no". On the verge of acknowledging that the things which have always made me grit my teeth are now just cute little eccentricities? Again, a resounding no. ("Hell, no," would be my woefully-inelegant response to that, actually. I just don't do sentimental.) But, there are a few things I definitely like and respect... things that (usually) make it possible for me to bite my tongue and silently tolerate the rest, even. So...