My sweetie, Dasher

And the memories remain ...


Really ... you were the first friendly face we saw when we moved into Woodlands in December 1999. You greeted us everytime we walked past the void deck with a friendly rub and waiting for a pat. You showed us your family. With your little "waak" your kittens would suddenly appear from drains or behind discarded furniture, whereever you had set up temporary home.

We tried to bring you up once, but you wouldn't have it. Perhaps there were more kittens you had to look after and so you stayed by the door, till we let you go free once again.

Evening feeds at the void deck became our ritual, a little packet of fish, a rub on the leg, one pat and you were satisfied... content. That's why we called you Sweetie at first for that was what you are ...

But life wasn't safe for you out there. Most of your kittens never made it but still you tried. We were only able to rescue one - Blitzen. Her brother left you a few days before and we are glad to see that at least he still survives, prowling the neighbourhood. Jet black and handsome, you would be so  proud of him for he followed in your footsteps.

And so we took you up and gave you a home on April 1 2003. There would be no more babies for you to worry about - your job has been done well. When we had you fixed, the vet said it was lucky we got you in when we did. Your womb was so distended by the many births, you would not have survived much longer.

The Passion of Sleep ...

Envy the cat ... for sleep comes easy

Big yawn ... fangs and all

 Brothers make good pillows ...

 

A full laundry basket maketh a good bed ... with a kid brother as a bolster

 Sometimes it's a tight squeeze just to get comfy

 

 When there is no one to hug, a couch will just have to do

And did we mention, yawning is contagious?

Fantasies of the Unconscious

Fantasies of the Unconscious ...

the road is long ... with many a winding turn ...

and so i seek out a new path -
bigger beyond the consciousness of the present
one larger  than i can possibly fathom ...

for if the dream were to die ...
the soul would soon follow and i
would be no better than the ignorant masses,
mere noise in the background ...

aspire no more to lead
but to stand alone ...
eyes fixed firmly on a goal
just beyond the grasp ...

He understands ...

"God understands our prayers even when we can't find the words to say to him."

Love the dog's expression!!
Source:  http://wendisecretstolife.blogspot.com

okay ... so I can't paint ...

or draw or colour or sketch .... sigh!

drew this today while on gmail chat with a friend ... strange thing ... it started off to be a dinosaur ... then I discovered how to make ... well ... splotches. Yup, life is full of surprises
 ...

then in a mood on April 3, ... it changed to this ... which did not get any good reviews either .... probably because of the dark text ...

and so that made way for some greenery  ...

... and on a dreary Easter Sunday ... this is about as done as it is ever going to get. That's me facing the rising sun ... standing alone ... content ...

Hundreds protest global warning in Canada

Sent by a friend ...

Guys don't shop - we just buy things

The other half should have known this by now ... certainly after all these years ...

It's simple really - if you want us to help with the groceries - beyond the manual, unpaid, unappreciated hard labour of physically carrying the hundred-odd bags to the car - fine but be clear in what you ask of us.

"Grab a carton of eggs" = I will take the first carton I see. No that's always the wrong one. If you want a specific brand or type - then you have to tell us 'cos all eggs look pretty much alike to us mortal men.

"Don't you know we always use the low-cholesterol ones?" Huh were these chickens on a diet or something? To me, all eggs look and taste the same - really - when fried and served on a plate - with bacon - the more the better. That kinda makes all this "low cholesterol" crap kinda redundant ya?

Fantasies of the Unconscious - The Art of Appreciation

I admit it - it used to bother me that I didn’t understand much about Art - especially the newer more "contemporary" forms.

To me “real” art was always these scenes of old - oils on canvas capturing a moment of intense human interaction - be it a man dying on a cross, a scene in an Italian marketplace, well-decked virgins dancing in fields of flowers or my favourite - the hand of God reaching out through the clouds to touch some naked guy (Yes, yes - I know its Adam).

You always knew what you were looking at and the main message was clear. If you take a closer look, you would probably be able to uncover more - some of the messages lying just beneath the surface which the artist had in mind.

The Christmas gift of hope

By Susan Leonard

When I recall precious Christmas memories, I think of a very special story, one which represents the magic and glory of the season. This is a true story, as told to me by my husband -- a professional Santa Claus -- of a real Christmas miracle which he experienced. A story that I think will cause YOU to believe ...

Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see my Santa at Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin. The child climbed up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl.

"Who is this?" asked Santa, smiling. "Your friend? Your sister?"

"Yes, Santa," he replied. "My sister, Sarah, who is very sick," he said sadly. Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby, and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
 

"She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!" the child exclaimed. "She misses you," he added softly.

Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy's face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas. When they finished their visit, the Grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted.

"What is it?" Santa asked warmly.