Sadly, there wasn't too much snow on snow, snow on snow...yesterday. It melted by afternoon and even when a few flakes fell late in the day, it was above freezing and didn't stick. The snow didn't stay around long enough for pictures or that might have been due to easing into the day.
The kiddos are tired of garage life and are out in the backyard, running about which usually turns into a chase one another kind of thing. With low temps but no rain or snow, they need to get out and run off some of that energy. In a minute, I'll get out there to feed them but treats were distributed earlier this morning. Earlier in the week the younger ones were intensely playing with what I thought to be a piece of mulch or wood. They look as if they are playing soccer. Upon closer inspection from a respectful distance, the observation was, it was a squirrel paw. Ugh! Not too big of a squirrel by the size of it, but my concern was not finding the rest of the squirrel squired away in the garage. A mockingbird was killed last week and even though we learn from To Kill a Mockingbird, never to kill one, the ferals don't read. Again, the bird was spotted at a respectful distance but at some point that bird was in the garage with the evidence being, feathers. Around here I implore them not to kill the cardinals and so far, with the exception of a baby bird, they have abided by those rules or maybe it should be request.
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The hope of warming into the upper 40s fills me with thoughts on what to take care of outside while it isn't so bitterly cold. The Feral Fam feeding, breakfast edition, has been taken care of. Full house last night in the garage as the temps dipped into the 20s. Excited to report a breakthrough with Biggio. He let me pet him this morning, briefly with HP right there, but that in my book is a breakthrough. Radley has greeted my extended hand with a nose kiss, so that is good news too. Buddy is settling in for a morning nap and this morning my agenda is wash my hair. This is a good morning around here.
Read something interesting in the Wall Street Journal this morning, a question thing I have never noticed as a feature. It was about a grandmother when with her grandchildren took way too many pictures. The son wondered if his mom is missing out on real memories with the kids and what should he say to his mom. Sometimes, I have to remind Roy while he is in the midst of capturing beautiful photos, to take the time to soak in the scene. To look beyond just a picture. I love his photography and he takes lovely and thought through photos. The WSJ cited a study where groups of two were sent out into lovely scenery. One could take pics, one could not. They brought the groups back about a month later and the person who didn't take the pictures recalled and had a better memory of what they saw. Somewhere there has to be a fine line to be able to experience both.
January is usually a quiet month for me. The past few years it has been a month used for introspection and when February hits, emotionally and mentally, I move on. This practice more so since 2018 as I tried to figure out, after my father's death in 2017, how he could have made so many of the choices he did and selfishly, I concentrated on how he began to hate me at the age of five and when I went to school. Thankfully, my college roommate put an article on FB in 2018 that changed the perspective to understand who he was. He is one of the meanest men I have ever known, one of the best liars that ever walked this earth, a sadistic father who delighted in seeing his children and most probably he directed this at my mother as well, be humiliated, bullied, embarrassed and ridiculed. Rarely if ever, did he step in to help or rescue when our ages were appropriate to do so. When he was in the hospital in February 2012, none of his posse was with him, his only option was Roy and me. I cannot emphasize enough the difficult battle that was going on inside of me. He never thought about the day that would come when he needed us to help him. Here it was and I wanted to walk out that hospital room door with the words I heard so many times before from him, "hey, you're on your own. This will make you stronger, stop acting weak and pull yourself up by your bootstraps. You don't have anyone to help you, so why don't you cry out to God. That's what you tell me you've learned." I knew if I said those things and walked away, I would have become just like him and everything within me constantly fights the thought of, oh my I just acted like my father. The choice became easier once I reasoned out the true choice to make. It was hard though, because he was a difficult man and even in need, he manipulated and spewed horrible words. He was a narcist to the bone. We were merely possessions or pawns depending on his mood but it had to cut to the core, that the daughter he despised, hated and loathed was helping him. I think that is why he responded legally, dissolving the relationship and then began the campaign of lies that lasted for several years. Today, I'm glad I did the right thing in that hospital room.
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