Looking in the Mirror

I’m sitting here listening to some oldies but goodies from my high school and college days and memories come flooding back. I shake my head and wonder if I was ever that young and carefree. Old friends and carefree summer trips to Warren Dunes in Michigan float into my head. Isn’t it amazing what songs can trigger? When we are young we think we will go on forever. We think we are immortal!


I’ve had an interesting life after all is said and done. There have been good times and bad times so far, but life is always interesting. I grew up on a small chicken farm in Central Illinois and found my way to San Antonio, Texas. I’ve been married three times. I have two daughters and three grandchildren. I’ve travelled to Paris, Athens and Rome. I’ve flown over Pikes Peak, travelled cross country by train on the California Zephyr and watched the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean in Cancun, Mexico. I’ve canoed across Canadian lakes with four best friends while watching eagles soar overhead. I’ve gathered eggs, pumped gas, worked for a newspaper, been an inside salesman for a scientific company, worked as a senior buyer for a telecommunication company, given tours in a historic mansion and worked as a historical interpreter for an internationally known historic sight. I’ve freelanced several magazine articles and written a book.

People and animals have come into and out of my life. Some have captured my heart while others have broken it to pieces. Some have inspired me and given me hope. Others have taught me lessons in love, patience and peace. But I’ve also had lessons on hatred, greed and fear. I have learned that I am a creative being and receive great energy from art. I have hurt on purpose and been hurt. I have been loved unconditionally. I have been loved in spite of…many things. I have laughed with friends and cried alone. I have watched people grow old and some have pass on. I have remembered the kitten while I stroked the head of an old friend as our vet ended his life before my eyes. I have missed and… been missed.

I was raised as a Presbyterian, was confirmed in the United Church of Christ, had my daughters baptized and confirmed as Catholics and served as an elder the Missouri Synod Lutheran Church. I have been married in the Catholic Church, the Lutheran Church and the Unitarian Universalist Church. I have attended Quaker, B’hia, Baptist, Jewish and Unity Church services. I have studied and embraced much from the Buddhist faith and New Age thought. I have learned that the more I think I know, how little I really know. I have learned that we are one and that what we do to others…we do to ourselves. We sow what we reap. I have learned that Love can overcome Fear, but that Fear too often gets the best of us because we are human on a never ending path. I’ve learned that we create our own reality…good and bad. I’ve learned that we get chances…lot of chances…until we get it right. Learning is remembering what we already know…and have always known.

I looked into the mirror today and saw a 58 year old man staring back at me and realized that life goes on. Where we are… is where we are at.

Food for THOUGHT…

Confronting the Public

Dealing with the public is a double edged sword. At times, it can be very rewarding and other times it can be very frustrating and draining. At the Alamo, there is a long standing tradition that requires gentlemen to remove their hats upon entering the old Alamo Church, now called the Shrine. The Shrine is a place to honor the Alamo defenders who fought and died there on March 6, 1836, in the Battle of the Alamo. Over 200 defenders met their fate at the hands of Santa Anna’s overwhelming Mexican Army. But now this time honored tradition of men removing hats as a sign of respect is being questioned.


It is never fun confronting Alamo visitors about the rules on food, drink and photography, but it can get even more contentious when some men feel just as strongly about keeping their hats on. I’ve had men turn around and leave rather than remove their hats. Some men become irate and ask us why women are not required to remove their hats as well. Still others refuse outright or say nothing until we force the issue, often ending in bad feelings, vocal confrontations and sometimes expulsion.

To avoid a bad experience for our visitors, there is a growing feeling that we should ask once and then refrain from enforcing this time honored rule in the Shrine. While it seems like a solution to this occasional problem, it puts Alamo guides in an awkward position at the door. Under this non-enforcement idea, male visitors who are asked to remove their hats at the door will see those men who choose not to remove their hats walking around inside and they will question why THEY are being asked to remove their hats. Again, potential for more bad feelings?

So what should be done? Should we enforce the rule and risk an occasional confrontation or let the rule slide? Over 90% of the men asked to remove their hats do so with a quick apology and a hint of embarrassment. Many men just fail to see the large brass sign with the rules posted outside the front door of the Shrine. This one rule on hats, however, deals with forcing a sign of respect as opposed to other rules that deal with protecting the physical building and artifacts. We have always made allowances for wearing hats in the Shrine on religious grounds or medical reasons, but outright defiance becomes another issue.

Alamo guides have been witnessing less respect for the rules and poor behavior and attitudes on the part of visitors today. There is a growing sense of entitlement to be able to do whatever they want, regardless of posted rules. We see it not just in young adults, but in interactions between parents, their children and even teachers and school chaperones. So is this lack of respect and poor behavior just a sign of the times? Should we just go with the flow and let it slide? Or do we stick to the rules? Do we risk confronting the public?

Food for THOUGHT…

Farewell to Spike

Last Saturday, Lisa and I took our beloved cat, Spike, for his last trip to the vet. It was one of the hardest things that I’ve ever had to do. For more than a year, we have watched Spike on a slow decline, but we felt that as long as his appetite was good, we would put up with his frequent messes outside of the litter box. Spike stopped grooming himself and his fur had become matted and his paws were always dirty. We tried to brush him and began giving him baths, but he still looked like hell. He was walking stiffly and spent most of the day sleeping under the dining room table, coming to life only when it was feeding time. When I came home from work Friday night, Spike could no longer stand and we knew his time had finally come.


Spike had never really recovered from our visit to see Lisa’s mother two Christmases ago. Our three cats were left for several days with plenty of food and water. Spike was confined to the kitchen and the other two cats were confined to the sun room. Upon our return, we found Sylvie and Babs were just fine, but Spike had gorged on all of his food and finished all of his water and was in bad shape, barely able to meow and unable to stand. We took him to the vet and his tests indicated that he had a number of health problems and probably would not make it through the night. Our vet offered to put Spike down, but I could not bring myself to do it. We took him home to die. That night, Lisa and I took turns holding him in an easy chair wrapped in towels and expecting the worst. He would not eat but would struggle to the floor and wobble to his water bowl for a drink and then fall over. We would pick him up and go back to the chair. This continued through the night and into the next morning and finally I had to leave for work. Miraculously, the next day Spike began to eat a little and slowly he rallied, but he was never the same. We knew from that point on that he was borrowing more than his 9 lives.

I began my 17 year relationship with Spikeminster T. Cat when my daughter, Erin, insisted that I needed a cat. I was divorced and living alone in a small one bedroom apartment, but I never thought of having a pet. Despite my protestations, my daughter prevailed and at the last animal shelter we visited, we found…Spike. He was about 6 months old with big paws and one pink ear. He had ear mites and right away I had to give this kitten medicine that he did not care to have. Eventually we made peace, and Spike made himself at home in my apartment.

One night, after I brought Spike home, I was awakened in the middle of the night. It was dark, perhaps about 3 am, and Spike was on my stomach. He dropped a wet ball of foil on my chest and meowed. It was time to play! It seems that my new kitty had a foil fetish. Spike had climbed into the recycle container and found just the right size ball of foil. Then he proceeded to dunk said foil in his water bowl. (Everything went into the water for a good float, you see.) So Spike and I bonded that night. Many mornings he would sleep with his head on the pillow next to mine and I would awake to his snoring.

This one on one bonding left Spike with very little tolerance for strangers. One night my friend, Bill, stopped by the apartment and for the first time Spike showed his now infamous “growl” so fierce that Bill thought his life was about to end. I could not calm Spike down so we had to leave. Spike continued to voice his hatred for Bill and displeasure for any stranger who happened into our territory. He sometimes tolerated women, but hated men with a passion. When Lisa and I started dating Spike would go into the kitchen, jump up on top of the cabinets and growl at her from above. Eventually, he would stay in the room but kept his distance in an uneasy truce. One night we were having ice cream on the couch and he climbed into her lap, trying to check out her bowl. From that point on, he allowed her to pet him in her lap and she was in. Spike had let another human into his family circle.

Lisa had her own cat, Sylvie, and when we decided to move in together, we had to figure out a way to integrate our two cats. Sylvie was very outgoing but demanding. She was the “Princess” and never let you forget it. I stopped by Lisa’s apartment, when we were dating, to care for Sylvie when Lisa went to Australia. After feeding her royal highness, I had to sit in a chair and pet Sylvie until she had had enough and jumped down. Then I could go home. So we decided to keep our cats separated for awhile and let them sniff each other through the bedroom door. Finally, the day came to introduce our cats to each other. Spike was sitting in my office. Sylvie came in the room, went right up to Spike and whopped him several times in the face and ran out of the room thereby establishing who was in charge. Poor Spike looked up at me as if to say…”WHAT was that!” What was that indeed. Spike had allowed another human into his life, but another creature? Over the years, Spike and Sylvie established an uneasy truce, but never were the best of friends. Sylvie always had a way to outsmart the unsuspecting Spike when she wanted something, like a nice spot in the sun.

Our cats had very different feeding habits. When we moved to Texas, over five years ago, we had to drug our two cats for the drive. That was a trip! We could crush the pill and mix it in Spike’s food bowl with no problem. He LOVED food. He packed on the pounds while we were living in Chicago and we had to put him on a diet. Sylvie, on the other hand, was more discriminating and stayed wafer thin with her big, wispy tail. She would eat around the pill fragments, no matter how small, and leave them in the bottom of her bowl or walk away from the food, pill and all. Sylvie liked to eat a little and come back later for more. Spike would often finish her food between tastings so this became a problem at feedings. In later years, Spike would have to be kept in the kitchen or another room so that Sylvie would not starve. Spike had a long love affair with his food.

After our move to Texas, we bought our house and Spike began licking his belly. Eventually, he licked the fur off and had open soars on his belly. We decided to find a vet to see what was going on. We suspected allergies, but we had no idea how to treat them. Given Spike’s dislike of strangers and men in particular…you can imagine how our quest went. One vet hid behind the door with his assistant and said, “That’s okay, you don’t have to bring him back!” because Spike was growling so ferociously. We went through several vets until we found The Alamo Dog and Cat Hospital on the south side. Spike was wearing his inflated blue collar to prevent his licking. The vet said, “Oh, he’s not so bad!” as Spike did his best to growl. The vet was unfazed and we knew we had found Spike’s vet at last. He prescribed more fish and fish oil in Spike’s diet and his licking eventually stopped.

The last member to join Spike’s family circle was Babs, our little, foundling cat. Babs was just 7 weeks old and caught in our fence by the AC unit at the side of our house. We were dealing with the death of Lisa’s Aunt Barbara and our upcoming trip to Chicago for a family reunion. Now, in the midst of all our chaos came this loud compelling meow. I decided to give up on our “only two cats” rule and we kept the little kitten that captured our hearts with her loud purring and tiny meow. We named her Babs after Lisa’s aunt. Babs took over our house immediately. She insisted on being wherever the other two cats were, but Sylvie wanted nothing to do with the newest member of our family. She would hiss and run out of the room. It was Spike, our long suffering male cat, that finally bonded with Babs. One day I looked over and found the two of them curled up together, sound asleep in a chair. Spike would sometimes lick Babs’ head like a mother cat. Only once did I see Babs curled up next to Sylvie and that was after she was already asleep.

The morning we took Spike in for his last visit to the vet was emotional. Spike was hobbling around the kitchen and I knelt down to pet him. He really enjoyed the attention. He had become so scruffy looking and frail that we often left him alone. I started crying uncontrollably knowing what was waiting for him at the vet’s office. At that moment, it was like Spike knew, too. He gave me head butts as if to let me know it was okay. At the vet’s office we took Spike out of the carrier and I held him for a while trying to remember all that we had been through in our 17 years together. I stoked his face as he was given the shot that would stop his heart. In just a minute, the vet said that he was gone.

Spike’s body was placed in a cardboard casket and we brought him home. I left the casket in the sun room until I could dig his grave in the backyard under a tree. Lisa had to go to work and we planned to do a little ceremony and burial that evening when she returned. Babs came into the room, walked all around sniffing the casket and then jumped down. Babs and Sylvie seemed restless all day. I was working on the computer when all of a sudden I had a wonderful vision of my late mother holding Spike. They were both young and healthy and she was laughing about Spike’s one pink ear. She was nuzzling and petting him and in that moment I knew Spike had crossed over and he was okay.

That evening, we opened the casket and placed…a foil ball next to him. Lisa placed the African Adinkra burial cloth she created for him on top of his body (see photos below). The fabric came from the “I Am Spirit“ cloth displayed in her England Exhibition and the symbols represented:

1) Moving from physical to Spirit
2) Perseverance
3) Harmony

We toasted Spike and we laid him to rest under the tree. It was hard to say good-bye to our dear friend and not know when or if we would meet again. It is a shame that only a few people ever got to see the real Spike for the sweet and gentle creature he was. He will be missed.

Food for THOUGHT.