The Important Things

Day 73: Some few of you may know me well enough to know that I have been a loner most of my life. Perhaps that comes as a surprise to others of you, but it's true. As a child, I was known by my peers from an early point as "the Professor," and the nickname was not meant kindly. I developed only one close friendship with anyone, and that friendship endures even today. Marilyn was almost as geeky as I was, but her social skills were greater (which is to say she had some, which I did not). Even as an adult, I did not fit in, and was quite content to remain apart. It wasn't until I started working in the Park for the second time that I began to form relationships with other people, quite possibly because we were meeting on a literal "common ground." A little further down the line, I started Morris dancing, and that brought a whole new assortment of friends and acquaintances. Okay, rangers and Morris dancers are both a bit peculiar, but at least I felt I'd found places where I wasn't a complete outsider. Still, the recent outpouring of help and support from members of both groups came as a complete surprise to me. Suddenly, I found myself surrounded by a family of unrelated people, adding a new definition to a word which had previously applied only to the feathered or furred critters who have been my companions over the years. If I now appear to be at a loss for words, it's because I am. I simply don't know how to express how much it means to have friends. You've had them for years; it's "old hat" to you. For me, it is a novel and humbling experience, coming as it does in this late stage of my life. Thank you for the best Christmas gift of all.

First On The Tree

Day 54: I'm off schedule this year, but at least I'm early instead of late. I don't usually put the tree up until the 10th, but with today being St. Nicholas' Day and the first batch of cookies having been baked several days ago, I decided I'd at least assemble it and string the lights. That done, the bare boughs nagged at me when I sat down to enjoy my book, so I dragged the ornaments out of the closet and set to work. The first ornament I hang is always Cocoa's, and it goes in a place of honour, front and center at eye level. Hard to believe that the dearest love of my life has been gone almost twenty years.

Cocoabean

Day 58: "When Memory lives, Spirit endures." It is a phrase I often include in notes of sympathy when a friend has lost a loved one, and although I am not religious and do not believe in a soul as such, "spirit" is another concept entirely. "Spirit" is how we are perceived and remembered by others, whether we are alive or dead. It is the essence of who we are and how we relate to the rest of the world. It is more apparent to us in other humans and in our pets, but all things have "spirit," right down to the rocks and soil beneath our feet; it is our mental record of them.

One dear spirit passed through my life all too briefly, and although his memory is still strong in my mind more than a decade after his passing, I strengthen it each Christmas when I place his ornament on the tree: first, and in a place of prominence. I miss you, Cocoabean, love of my life.

Twenty-Year Quilt

Day 299: I don't recall what year I actually started this quilt. I can only date it by saying that Cocoa (my Cockatoo) liked to use it for a trampoline once it was stretched in the hoop for stitching. That dates it to at least 2001, and since the machine-piecing was done by that point, I'd say we can safely add another two years, maybe even three. Let's make it a nice round number, and call it twenty years ago, ergo the "Twenty-Year Quilt."

I used to call it the "Mistake Quilt." Y'see, all those little squares were supposed to be part of a different top, but somebody (-cough-) forgot to add the seam allowance when she cut them out. In a hasty revision of plan, this version was born. The fact of the matter is that I've made dozens of quilts over the years and have given away all but one which Cocoa also helped create. Every one with the exception of the one I kept have been tied with yarn rather than stitched to hold the batting in place. With its open blocks, this one seemed to beg for hand-stitching even though the quilt itself was pieced on the machine. I can make all sorts of excuses for why it's taken so long to finish: my fingers got sore, I had company over and needed to get the frame out of the way, I got bored...but the truth of the matter is that it brings back memories of Cocoa, and not all of them are things I want to think about. I've worked more diligently at the task over the last several days than during any other time since his passing, but sometimes those dark remembrances still float to the surface while my fingers are busy and my mind is not. It has taken twenty years, but I've taught myself to block their intrusion and wilfully force them back in the box. When I am done (and I truly believe I'll finish it over the next few weeks), the back will bear an embroidered tag with my name and the date, and the words "Cocoa helped." It will no longer be the Mistake Quilt or the Twenty-Year Quilt. It will be Cocoa's Quilt, and thus an heirloom.

First, Always

Day 57: The tree goes up, the garland is strung along the branches, and now it's time to decorate. I go through both boxes, looking for one special container and the ornament it contains. Always, this little cockatoo is the first one hung.

Y'see, it goes back to when a real cockatoo was part of my life, and if you've never shared your world with a highly intelligent bird with a very human sense of humour, the significance of this post will probably be lost on you. Cocoa was a very special little fellow, so much so that when he passed away, I could not bear to consider getting another bird. For one thing, my years on this earth are limited, and it would not be proper to a long-lived creature to enter into a contract of care and love, knowing that you would probably predecease your companion. Nor would it be fair to that creature to have expectations which might not be possible for it to fulfill. Cocoa was unique, as all real personalities are, and our time together was far too short.

It's been almost fifteen years since I lost him despite heroic veterinary intervention, but he lives in my heart like no other companion I have ever known. First, always, and in a place of prominence, Cocoa's ornament goes on the tree, and then I settle into the business of hanging other memories on the boughs.