Two

I'm not off to the best start. I struggled to recall my user name when trying to post this, my second blog entry. But here I am and I haven't a clue where to focus my thoughts. It's a strange thing to try to steer what I'm driven to write about towards those subjects which I can illustrate with photos. Not that I have to (and you'll see that I won't). But the blogs I find most interesting are full of photos. And as of today, there are over 5,000 photos in our I-Photo library. All scattered about with numbers for names. And all pleading with me to do something with them. Soon.

On a recent (and rare) shopping trip a couple of days ago, my search for a gift to cheer up a sad friend led me to the children's department at a local store. Since I've yet to find the perfect snuggly friend for Eli to grow old with, I perused the stuffed toys. As usual, they were all pretty offensive. But something under the mound of synthetic fur caught my eye. I reached in and pulled out a scrappy grey cat, all limp and nubbly and obviously well-loved. My heart swelled up inside. I thought of the child who might be missing their floppy old security cat. I thought of the time I left my SuperBoy on top of the gumball machine at the five-and-dime and how my granddaddy raced me back to look for him but without success. And how the monkey with the squeaky hand he bought me to replace SuperBoy didn't quite do the trick. What could I do to get this lost cat home? After tooling around the store for a bit longer, I decided to put the cat safely in my basket and tell the cashier that I'd found something that surely someone would be calling about. And then I hoped that the kitty wasn't disappointed that I'd taken him off the shelf where he was perhaps pleased to be posing as a brand new toy, convincing himself that he just might be chosen and taken home. Now all I can do is tell myself that there was a happy ending. And encourage Anna to leave her dolls in the car.