Cats and Trails and Garden Tales
Musings on cats, travel, gardens and life
Hawaii – the beginnings
No, not the beginning of the islands themselves. (Though you can still witness them grow as molten lava flows into the ocean.) I’m talking about my own humble beginnings with these wonderful Pacific islands collectively known as Hawaii.
It started sometime after my 20th wedding anniversary when I said to my husband, with a smile on my face and stars in my eyes, “Isn’t it wonderful that we will celebrate our 25th Anniversary in Hawaii?”
His laughter indicated he didn’t know this to be true at the time. In fact, I knew my husband had little to no interest in Hawaii, why I do not know. Nevertheless, I continued this prophetic speak when the occasion so warranted, wisely and judiciously until the message was heard; until he deduced from my unabashed hinting that I wasn’t kidding, and yes it may be time for such a trip.
“Honey, if you really want to go, we will go.”
And so my planning began in earnest as we settled on the islands of Oahu and Hawaii (aka, ‘the big island’) to celebrate our anniversary almost 10 years ago.
I won’t bore you with too many details from that first trip. (For I have been making up for lost time ever since.) I can only tell you that I was immediately smitten; it was everything I hoped it would be and much, much more. I can find no word more suitable to describe this magical place than Lush.
Lush. Hanging vines. Coconuts. Papayas and mangoes. Banyan trees. Waterfalls. Rich fragrances of fruits and flowers filling the moist air.
So while the Seattle winter rains are heavy upon us, I am making final preparations for our next trip, the second to the island of Maui. It may be our last, who knows? But I am so glad I spoke that first trip into being many years ago, by a few simple words.
“Isn’t it wonderful that we will celebrate our 25th Anniversary in Hawaii?”
Yes. It was.
~ Susanne
The Clipped Ear ~ by Benji
I don’t know why they clipped my ear,
I wasn’t born this way;
It makes me different from the rest,
A badge of my dismay.
Despite the cut I’m still the same,
I haven’t changed within;
The wildness they had hoped to cure
Still lurks beneath my skin.
Though I am happy to be found
And thankful for my home;
I’d rather they have brought me here
With all parts left alone.
~ Benji
Grandma the Cat Whisperer
Don’t tell Benji but I am not as brave as he thinks I am. Oh, I hiss at him all right and swipe at him when I must. (Part of the training. He must learn after all.) But it’s all for appearances. I won’t hurt the little one for I am a dignified and gentle soul.
I am also what humans call skittish. I don’t like the label but I admit it’s true. Inside I carry secret things from previous lives lived in shadows and confinement. It is because of this I don’t like strangers or small spaces or closed doors or sudden noises.
Sue loves me and I know she understands. But she is more and more preoccupied with the young one. He does need the extra attention to get him safely through his first few lives so I don’t hold this against her. We are all still adjusting.
In the meantime I enjoy visiting grandma in her nice big room. I even learned from her that the closed door can be good; it is not to keep me in, but to keep us in peace when Benji has the fire in his eyes. (He can’t help it. He is young and carries secrets too.)
Grandma explains things to me in her normal voice and I appreciate it. She tells me when it’s time for bed and when I can go outside. When to ignore the boy and when to stand up for myself. I have even taken to sleeping on her lap and she does not move or disturb my rest.
I think I have the best of everything here.
I call her Grandma the Cat Whisperer.
~ Tiger
I asked for the rain to go away ….
Seems like only yesterday I asked please no more rain and today I woke up to this.
It’s soft and pretty and wet and I want to play in it but it’s deeper than me. But Tiger wasn’t afraid at all. I didn’t know he was so brave…
and could jump so high and run so fast!
I want to follow him but ..
I think I am too small.
I hope I grow up to be like Tiger.
~ Benji
Rain Rain Go Away ..
Rain rain go away.
It makes me tired.
~ Benji
Ordinary Promise
I was drawn into the frozen garden this morning by the promise of deep color behind. But the brilliance lasts only moments and before I could get my camera it was gone…So I only managed to capture the ordinary… Still there was enough promise for the day..
~ Susanne
A trip to Siberia … and a Coup!
Would you vacation in Siberia? Would you? What if it you knew there would be an attempted coup that might threaten your return home to these United States of America? Well no, I wouldn’t, but yes, my mother did. And so I will take you on a journey to Magadan and Khabarovsk in Russia’s Far East, during the waning days of the USSR.
It was August of 1991 and Alaska Airlines had begun flying to Russia from Anchorage, Alaska. My mother had remarried after being widowed some years before and she and her new husband decided upon this unusual vacation. (Apparently after the honeymoon in Hawaii the next logical place to go is Siberia?)
Magadan
After spending a few days in Alaska, they fly west to Magadan, a port city on the Sea of Okhotsk in Russia’s Far East. Magadan was a major transit center during the Stalin era for prisoners sent to the Siberian labor camps. It served as a staging ground to the Kolyma gold fields, the deadliest of the camps in the Soviet Gulag.
It is still a difficult existence. Their two local Russian guides are teachers, and they earn the equivalent of eight dollars a month. Senior citizens in town are required to clean the streets to receive their pensions. Scenes from a town in disrepair reflect its painful past.
The accommodations at the Magadan hotel (the only hotel in a city of 100,000) are what you might call basic. The hotel was previously used almost exclusively by government officials.
The beds are tiny though each room does have its own private bath. (Uh-huh, see for yourself.)
No, she’s not complaining. The water was hot (at least when the pumps were working according to one local) and the experience invaluable.
They tour the town and visit the Magadan Theatre, famous for the actors, writers and directors who had worked there in the past as prisoners.
Golden Bread
It’s a good thing they didn’t go for the food. One time they sat down to a lunch that included Russian bread the color of gold. Beautiful gold that seemed to flow. And as they watched, the gold poured out of the center of that bread in the form of tiny ants. Lots of them. (So mom, tell me again why you wanted to vacation in Siberia? Oh yeah, I remember now, because it’s there!)
On to Khabarovsk
They head south to Khabarovsk, a much larger city on the Amur River near the border with China. The people are friendly and the children beautiful, as are children everywhere. It was customary for the little girls to wear big bows in their hair.
They visit an old-fashioned theme park..
Take a cruise on the Amur River..
And stop at a Military Museum complete with Russian tanks.
But why settle for that when you can see the troops roll down the streets for yourself? They are in Khabarovsk when news arrives that hard-line Communist Party members have staged a coup to take over the Soviet government from President Mikhail Gorbachev. Things are tense as KGB officers are seen huddling in front of Military buildings and troops roll down the streets in army trucks. (Tourists were cautioned not to take pictures but as you can see some did anyway.)
And then, after two days, the failed coup was over and Gorbachev was back in power. But it was the beginning of the end of the USSR.
The Americans had been scheduled to fly back through Magadan but the city is closed and no one is getting in or out. They would have to fly directly to Nome instead, refuel, then continue on to Anchorage.
When the plane reaches its final destination it is met by TV crews and my mother is one of the first to be interviewed. Was she afraid at any time while she was there? No, she replied honestly. It had all been so interesting, there was no time to be afraid.
Years later I am going through her scrapbook to write this story and come across a handwritten letter from a friend they made while in Russia. It read in part, “Do you remember my state of mind on that terrible day – the 19th of August. All of us were greatly depressed that there existed a probability of democracy defeat in our country those days. Thank God, it never happened though we still have no surety of a better life.”
I don’t know whether they attained to a better life or not. But as I consider these words I am reminded that we are really not that different. People all over the world have the same needs and wants, aspirations and struggles, for freedom and a good and decent life. It is still true that there are no guarantees.
~ Susanne
Benji ~ it’s a cat’s life
This is Benji and today was a good day to be a cat. First let me say I am a very good hunter. (As good or better than my older brother who seems to be losing his touch. I am not at all jealous.)
Usually I spend my time in the back ivy forest where the small ones live in the bush. It is productive most of the time as long as Sue is not around. (She is clumsy and disruptive. Tiger warned me of this.)
But today I discovered the tunnels where there is little cover, requiring that I utilize skills I did not know that I possessed. I must exercise control over every muscle to remain completely still, unseen and unheard.
I am good and I am patient.
It is only a matter of time before Sue attempts to thwart my efforts. Until then I will root out the tunnel scoundrels.
It’s a cat’s life.
~ Benji
Scenes from a ferry ride to the Olympics
It was a perfect day for a ferry ride.
The mountains were out and glowing,
Dinner in Port Townsend was perfect at sunset.
Another day in the Pacific Northwest.
~ Susanne
Paris Spontaneously
Once upon a time I visited Paris rather spontaneously which was not at all in keeping with my obsessive planning nature. And while I don’t necessarily recommend this approach (unless it is the only way you can get there) it worked for me!
It happened like this.
We were planning our first trip to Europe where my husband would be attending a conference for a few days. We would be gone for two weeks, the first to be split between Reading and London. The second would remain open. Maybe we would spend more time in England. Perhaps travel to Scotland? Of course I really wanted to see Paris (doesn’t everyone?) but my husband wasn’t so sure.
Still I hoped. Near the end of our first week there I begin to use my persuasive reasoning skills in earnest on my defenseless husband. Paris is so close, I say. Shouldn’t we take advantage while we’re here? We may never come back. And there’s Normandy! We could visit the D-Day Beaches! How about that? (Yes, I pulled the world war two card on my history buff husband, as I figure it may be my only hope for getting across the channel.)
He’s concerned about the language. Don’t worry I say. I know a little French. (A long, long time ago I had taken two years to satisfy college entrance requirements. I still remember how to say such useful expressions as, ‘May I sharpen my pencil?”)
It was October, not peak travel season, so I assumed it would be fine. There was the Eurostar train under the English Channel direct to Paris in 2 hours. Although no hotel arrangements had been made, I did have a few leads from friends. And I read and carried portions of Rick Steves travel book on France. (All part of my secret planning. How hard could it be?)
The Normandy strategy worked. We would travel to Paris by train, spend a few days, then take the train to Caen, rent a car and explore the area.
We check out of our hotel and walk to the Waterloo Station to take the Eurostar to Paris. Walk up, buy tickets. Only Business Class is available. (“That will be one arm and one leg, please.”) Okaaaay. We are committed and pay the price. (I won’t tell you how much. It’s still embarrassing.)
We have a comfortable ride over and can smell the sea as we cross under the channel.
And we’re in France!
And then the strangest thing happened. We exit the train and proceed to street level and we are in a foreign country and they really do speak another language and we really do not have reservations and what on earth are we doing here? At least that’s what I sense emanating from my husband and I am right there with him. Except. It was my idea. I know the language, remember? So after a brief encounter with a con artist who would love to help us out at the cash machine (um, no thank you) we head to hotel referral #1 near the Louvre and inquire about the rates. 500 Euros is the answer. It was then I knew we were in trouble.
Hotel referral #2 is on the Left Bank and we take a cab and learn quickly that French cab drivers are not the most patient human beings in the world (at least this one wasn’t) and also have a predetermined amount they expect for their tip and we apparently don’t know what that is (who takes a cab in Seattle?) and well, it’s awkward and slightly unpleasant. Fortunately we don’t understand what he’s saying (well we got the general idea.)
Thankfully Hotel #2 is quaint and clean and lovely and better yet, only 100 Euros a night. And they have a room available!. Oh joy!
So we relax and settle in for the most amazing few days in the beautiful City of Lights.
“Parlez-vous Anglais?” I say over and over again and every time the kind response is in English. The red bus is our way around town and we see all the sights one must see in Paris, including this one. (Sorry about the picture quality but hey, it’s mine and proof I was really there.)
And now I can finally say, “we’ll always have Paris.”
And to think this was my ticket in.
Okay, that’s all I have time for. Thanks for following along!
~ Susanne
Cats and Trails and Garden Tales 