I’m taking A Catholic Citizen in America in a different direction, at least for a while. I’ll still post something each Saturday, but will be focusing on what I call ‘family stories’.
It’s not that I’ve lost interest in science, history, and all that. When there’s something more-than-usually exciting going on, I’ll write about that. But mostly, I’ll be sharing memories and thoughts of a distinctly less nerdy sort.
I’ve got a few reasons for this.
Why I’m Doing What I’m Doing: Converting Memories to Writing
I’m in my mid-70s. The good news is that now I’ve run across more ideas and lore than I had, back in my younger years. The occasionally-frustrating news is that I’m not as energetic as I was then.
Those ‘science’ and ‘history’ posts, the way I do them, take time. Particularly since I’m not an ‘expert’: so I verify what my memory tells me, and do research to fill in the blanks.
I’d like to try my hand at digital art again, and write stories that have been on back burners, both of which are time-intensive efforts. Getting caught up on my Sky & Telescope reading is a ‘to do’, too.
Finally and importantly, my oldest daughter said she’d like me to start recording or writing down ‘family stories’ — anecdotes I’ve shared over the decades. I got started on that last month.
It’s a matter of priorities and limitations. There’s a consensus here that writing down these ‘family stories’ is a good idea, and I agree. Plus, I’ve only got so much time and energy to work with.
So I’ll share some of what I wrote last month, and keep on converting parts of my memory to these written anecdotes. Being committed to having at least a few ready each Saturday should keep me on-task.
Hope you enjoy these. I’ll do what I can to make that possible.
Getting Started: Cats, Homes, and an Incendiary Stove
Our cats were ‘indoor cats’, but old Boots was with us when we lived at 818 (10th Street South, Moorhead). My folks and I called it “818”: “eight-eighteen”. Then, when we moved to 1010 South 16th Street, Moorhead, that house was “1010”: “ten-ten”.
Anyway, Boots is the first cat I have more than a single memory of.
My memory of Dusty, my mother’s cat — I think she had Dusty before she went to college. Dusty stayed with my Grandma and Grandpa Hovde in Hillsboro, and was back with my mother by the time we were in 818.
My mother and father lived in an apartment when they first came to Moorhead, a place where the landlord ‘saved money’ by putting pennies behind the fuses. That cut down on the cost of replacing fuses, and resulted in a spectacular but not catastrophic kitchen fire when the — I think it was the stove that shorted out.
At any rate, their next place was 1215, a house on the near south side of Moorhead. It might have been 1215 2nd Avenue South, but at this time of day: I don’t remember.
Where was I? Cats. Homes. Incendiary stoves. Right.
Racing Into a South Wind
I think I remember seeing Dusty’s legs, while someone was doing physical therapy with me on the dining room floor of 818. I’d have been — probably a toddler at that point. That’s the only memory of Dusty I have — a nice little grey cat, I understand.
Dusty went the way of all flesh. Poetic, that, but moving on. Then my folks decided they’d get a kitten, picked from a litter — I’m not sure where. They picked the liveliest of the bunch, a big little kitten: dark grey with white “boots”, belly, chin, and nose. After some discussion, which I remember being made part of, the name “Boots” was chosen.
Boots may, or may not, have been part Maine Coon cat. Whatever his ancestry, he grew into a big fellow: a longhair with the ‘majestic’ feline personality. We joked that he may have regarded himself as a human, or didn’t realize that he was a cat.
Boots was mostly an ‘indoor’ cat, but we let him out for part of each day. The signal that it was time to come home was a whistle: very high-pitched.
One day, it must have been summer, because I was walking home with Dad — I think it was around noon.
We were near the north end of the block where 818 was, walking south, when I heard the cat whistle blowing. Or, rather, heard the whistle being blown by my mother.
There was movement to my left, in the front yard of the house we were passing, just behind a low hedge or border planting.
Rapid movement: Boots, leaping over the hedge, diagonally, headed south. South-southwest at that moment, actually, his fur streaming in the south wind. And then he was on the sidewalk ahead of us, racing toward 818.
I treasure that memory.
Another Memory, and Distractions
I’ll wrap up this week’s post with the usual link list; this time another ‘family story’ post (“Sledding With My Dad: Good Memories” ), and a look at what’s been distracting me this year:
- “Cancer Followup Scan: Good News”
(August 20, 2024)
- “Sledding With My Dad: Good Memories”
(June 22, 2024)
- “Finally Getting Back to Mass”
(April 22, 2024)
- “Family Health Issues: Cancer, a Smile, Tubes, and Waiting”
(February 12, 2024)
- “More Family Health Issues, or, NOW What?!”
(February 7, 2024)
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Wizard of Id’s Spook and Turnkey made a good point last Sunday.
I’ve got any number of excuses for fashionable melancholy. I see it’s been three years since I talked about that:
So I’ll express my hope that you have a good Thanksgiving Day — or November 28th, if my country’s turkey fest isn’t part of your week — see if I can find coverage of Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade online, and wrap this up with the usual vaguely-related list of posts:
