iChat for Ozzie Cat

The door to Katie's room is always open now. The bed stays made. Everything is in its place like a movie set waiting for the main character to arrive and breathe life into the scene. I wondered what Ozzie thinks about Katie's absence. From his earliest days in our home, he played in her room with ribbons and keychains, bags and shoes. He cuddled on her pillow and sat on her laptop. Now Katie's away at college and he misses her.

A few Sundays ago, he sat in my lap for 45 minutes and listened to her voice while we ichated on our Macs. He focused on the screen a bit, but mainly just sat contentedly in my arms like Katie was in the room with us.

A couple days later,

Ozzie ventured into Katie's room

and slept on her bed until

I disturbed him taking a photo.

I believe he connected the "Katie"

on the computer monitor with

his "sister" and found comfort

in her room. Does that mean Ozzie

misses Katie. Ubetcha! And it's safe

to say, Katie misses Ozzie too.

Mellow yellow summer

I wanted to post these photos all summer and here it is the last day before autumn. I was fascinated by the canaries in our yard and tried time and again to take a photo but...

Every time I'd run to get the camera, they'd fly away - so I'd keep the camera handy.

Then when I opened the back door, they'd fly away - so I tried sneaking around from the front, but they saw me.

Finally on August 15, two days before we left for Arizona to take Katie back to college, I photographed this lone canary from the kitchen window. He struck some nice poses and was a pretty obliging subject as he feasted on coneflower seeds. The coneflowers are past their prime now and the canaries are gone from my view, replaced by the constant activities of squirrels running up the trees across the yard and over the roof. I wonder how easy squirrels are to photograph.

Mother Nature Puts On A Show

How hot and satisfying the "cowboy" coffee tasted after a fairly good night's sleep at the farm! The air was cool, the dew was on the grass and the morning sun promised a warm and pleasant late summer's day. The corn fields loomed large before the fall harvest and the hills and trees were still green and verdant.

As I sipped my first cup of coffee by the campfire, I savored the memory of the night before - an evening ATV ride through the hills and valleys of Covo Hills guided only by our headlights and the night sky.

I was amazed to see a doe and her two fawns running through the upper fields. I pressed Jeff not to scare them. They stopped dead in their tracks when we noisily approached - underscoring the statement "like a deer in the headlights". Then the mama jumped over a fence of wild bushes leaving the fawns behind to stand and stare in her direction. I quietly yelled for the doe to come back, when one fawn discovered a hole in the bushes and the other followed to be reunited with their mother, I could only hope.

Our next stop was the new lodge building on the top of the hill. We could see the campfire glowing down in the distance, but up where we were there were no other visible lights to disturb the blackness. I can't remember ever seeing a night sky like we saw that evening. The vast heavens were resplendent with a multitude of stars in varying degrees of brightness. The sight was overwhelming. We easily picked out the Big Dipper and one larger, more luminous star Jeff called a planet. I just laid my head back and stared, thinking of eternity and infinity, two words that have no beginning and no ending - like the scene I was witnessing above. That God created the heavens and the earth, the stars, the moon and the sun, the deer and the corn and all creatures large and small, the plants and the oceans, and then created man and woman in his image is testament to his greatness and glory and a reason to feel forever thankful and loved.

May the circle be unbroken

My girlfriend Barbara expressed it best.

"You've come full circle," she said, after learning about our successful bid to purchase a Phoenix home.

Jeff and I met at Arizona State University back in 1976 and didn't venture far in our quest for a winter residence. Located on a lake in the shadow of South Mountain, the home is fourteen miles from ASU.

Full circle has a nice connotation. We've lived in Southern California, Miami and currently Chicago, raised two children out of the nest and experienced the immensely satisfying but quick pace of career and family.

But recently, we've both yearned for a little less shivering and a little more sunshine. My top two choices were Newport Beach or the Phoenix area - two places that call to my heart. Newport because we started our life as a couple there, we lamented the loss of our first child there and Nick was born there. Plus I love the ocean! Phoenix because I was raised there and my family still lives there. And the desert - I had to leave the desert and come back to truly appreciate the beauty of broad blue skies, mountain vistas and flowering cacti.

But alas, Nick and Katie made our decision easy. Nick has settled in Phoenix after college and Katie is two hours north at the university in Flagstaff, Nick's alma mater. (No ASU for them). Being close to my children in February will be like sitting by the fireplace and watching the snowfall transform the barren winter landscape into a scene infinitely beautiful.

I may not be as active a participant in their lives, but I can be a grateful observer, happy to be on the inside looking out at these wonderful beings. Katie will still be two hours away, but a very drivable distance should she want a break from college life. And Nick is our co-investor and housemate during our winter sojourns. Hmmm, the added warmth I feel this winter may not emanate from the Phoenix sunshine, but the kitchen!

Happy Birthday Dad!

Today is my father's 89th birthday.

He's been gone for 15 years, but his presence still surrounds us - more so now than in many of the intervening years. What has made his presence so palpable are images on the Internet of his one surviving sister Ollga, who at 77 never had the opportunity to know her brother.

My father's ties to his mother and two sisters in Albania were all but severed when the 18-year-old George joined his father in America in 1938.

Ollga was six at the time, losing both father and brother to a new life in a foreign country she would never know. He always referred to Ollga as "the little one" because in his mind she remained the six year old he left behind. George left communist Albania under the cover of night, traversing the mountains with fear of being discovered and forced to join the Albanian army. Instead, he joined the U.S. Army, instilling pride in the father who claimed his new homeland as his own much to the dismay of his wife and daughters.

I search Ollga's face for some resemblance to my father - the same nose, thin lips, high forehead, kindly brown eyes. Brother and sister separated by time and place - circumstances beyond my comprehension.

My father is gone, but Ollga remains the matriarch of her family, surrounded by sons and grandsons - cousins and nephews I know nothing about, but hope to someday meet. But for now, they remain strangers in a foreign land. And I am as much of a mystery to them as they are to me.