Somewhere among my belongings, either in boxes from my mom’s house or in something I already had in Maryland I found a formerly white envelope with the words Cinder Patrick, 1 year written on the front in red or dark pink ink. Inside was a small thatch of black fur.
Cinder was my second cat — my father, a self-described cat-hater, brought her home to me when I was 13. She was a one-person cat and everyone else hated her. We loved each other.
She lived through three moves, from my parent’s house to my first apartment, to Pittsburgh with Dean and me and finally to Alexandria where she died at the ripe old age of 17.
Sorry, Cinder, but this memory is going in the trash — the fur might go in the garden though.
This card was from 1980 and the note on the back refers to Dean and my trip to the Chetek cabin for our first vacation together. By this time Grandma had moved in with John in his trailer in Plano, Illinois.
This next card was probably from 1983 because I spent a few days with my Grandma and her partner, John, on my way from Pittsburgh to Elgin to drop off the cats for some reason or another — maybe Dean and I went to San Francisco that year? It was not the most direct of routes, but it enabled me to see her in her home. I think it was the only time I went to Plano, Illinois to visit her and John.
Not counting my personal ones, I have fourteen Bibles (actually most of them are just half the Bible) that belonged to one, now gone, family member or another. I have at least one for three of my grandparents, three that were my mom’s and four that were my fathers if you count the Bible that the funeral home gave us. I also have my mom’s brother’s New Testament that I will send to my cousin. My favorite is my Grandpa Green’s Mason Bible.
I read that Bibles can be thrown away with no ceremony, but I am uncomfortable doing so. I will probably put them in a box in the kneewall again, providing nourishment for the silverfish.
Or, they could be a Christmas decoration next year.