Bogart and a Violin
This morning, as always, I fed my purring cat, my 14 year old Bogart. He knows his name and perks up when I call him. While I clean his litter box with a mask on, he touches my legs with his snow white paws. His beautiful blue eyes stare at my face and my every move. Heavily co-dependent, he meows for attention the whole time. He is so old that not even the birds coming to the feeder outside seem to mind his presence – he has become part of the landscape, a garden statue, a former threat who is no longer eager to chase and kill anyone. I cannot imagine my mornings without him. He climbs the steps painfully in synch with my steps, not an inch ahead. He turns his head sideways to make sure I am right beside him like a child afraid to lose sight of his mom.
We make strange attachments in life. My former literature teacher in high school brought so much joy and light into our drab existence with his lively presence and his violin. The lovely instrument came to life when he touched the strings. He always chose a song he felt expressed the mood of the characters and the story line in the piece of literature we were studying. Some students, mischievous and immature, chuckled and snickered, while the rest of us were mesmerized. He filled my heart with music and made my imagination soar in the depth of despair and misery we lived every day. I felt like an eagle for a few minutes, soaring to freedom in the blue sky.
He took his violin everywhere. Sadly, I forgot his name, but etched in my memory are his snow white hair, his face, and his grey, well-worn, but impeccably pressed suit. His expressive eyes would close with the softer notes as if transported on the wings of an angel to a faraway place that brought him inner happiness and peace. I’d like to think that somewhere in Heaven my former literature teacher is playing music for the angels.
I sometimes close my eyes when I’m in the forest, surrounded by dense trees, wild flowers, and birds chirping. I hear a symphony of masterful sounds created by God and remember my teacher and his violin.
Yes, you’ve been through this movie before. You not only learned the value of freedom but also how to endure. Thank you for sharing an essential life lesson.
p.s. I didn’t know you did cross stitch!
Thank you, in my frustration at realizing I am largely helpless to halt the decline of this once grand republic into but another repetition of a senseless socialist failed experiment, I fail to stop, recognize and give thanks for so many positive aspects involved in my life, my sweet wife, my darling and loyal sister, my precious daughter and many good and gracious friends, they must be so in order to continue to tolerate me and be my friend. I must also give thanks to my precious little Doxie, Stella Dog, who just this morning woke me with a big kiss on the side of my face. My wife laughed while Stella scurried off in pursuit of squeaky toys and doggie pursuits. Yes, I have much to be thankful for. Thank you for reminding me.
I used to cross stitch, Carol, but I know longer do since I cannot see well enough. It was great therapy.