Yesterday when I woke up, my phone was blowing up with text messages. I had totally forgotten it was the pub day for my essay in the Huffington Post (long Covid brain). One friend, who reads the HP regularly, said she almost dropped her coffee when a picture with me and two dear friends popped up on her computer screen. Noah Michelson, the editor at Huff Post Personal, is an absolute dream to work with. He accepted my pitch back in November. Since then we’ve worked through edits. He had to contact Wendy and Suzy to get their permission. Now I see behind every good writer is a great editor. This essay is dedicated to Wendy and Suzy. I thank them for their time reading and sharing their edits. Really this is our essay.
A couple of days ago, an email from the New York Times appeared with “Your Tiny Love Story!” in the subject line. After submitting three or four times over the last couple of years, with no reply, I got a yes. It’s not easy to capture the love story you want to capture in 100 words. The editor asked that I get permission from my college sweetheart’s wife, since she is mentioned. His wife, Kim, and I are friends on social media. I took a deep breath, messaged her with a copy of the TLS. Within five minutes, she replied, “Absolutely, what a beautiful love story, Gosh how I miss that man.” Kim’s generosity was one of the things I wanted to come across in the TLS. The editor saw that. Once again, I am moved by Kim’s open heart. My heart is full, maybe bigger today. The love for my sweetheart is as strong as it was 40 years ago. Truly, he was the love of my life, one of the healthiest, fun-loving, respectful relationships I’ve had. The demise of our relationship happened after an unfortunate occurrence. That’s another story. Once he met Kim and married her, all my friends told me how much they like Kim and that I would too. They were right. I couldn’t be happier that he married a woman as lovely as his wife. I know he was the love of her life too. He was one of a kind. And there is plenty of love to go around. The Tiny Love Story should be out next week. In March, Huffington Post is publishing another essay of mine. Woohoo. I’ll send links when they come out.
Thanks for reading and keep your heart open.
Me and Tayloe I still have the watch I’m wearing. It was a gift from him.
“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” William Faulkner
Family movies show the plethora of flower sprays and large crowd at my paternal grandmother’s funeral. Effie Lee Galloway Scott died July1958, a year before I was born. From all the stories told, I feel I knew her and wish we had known each other.
She was a member of Jackson, MS’s pioneer Manship family, the daughter of Alfred Daniel Galloway and Annie Manship Galloway. Effie Lee was a devout member of Galloway Methodist Church, president of the garden club and Junior League, a member of the DAR and other civic organizations.
My older siblings called her Gaga and speak of how much they loved her, always upbeat up until the end and loved by many.
She endured enormous loss in her lifetime. Two of her four sons died.
Francis (Frank) Tomkeyes Scott, two years old, was hit by a trolley car in downtown Jackson while my grandmother helplessly watched from outside the Woolworth store screaming, “Oh my baby.” The newspaper article on this event is graphic and heartbreaking.
Her son, Walter W. Scott, 1920-1945, stationed in Italy and promoted to Captain was killed in action April 29th, 1945, five months before the war would end.
Effie Lee’s third child, Charles Scott, became a first pilot on a B-17 bomber that was shoot down during a raid. He was taken as a prisoner in a Nazi war camp for eighteen months returning to his family in Jackson, MS a forever changed man.
The fourth son, Bert Scott Sr., my father served in the Navy and outlived them all. I wish I had known to ask my father while he was alive, what all that must of been like for him. Did he feel undue pressure as the last remaining son of our prominent Southern family? Did he carry grief for his mother and lost brothers? Certainly, Daddy was trying to bury some sort of pain through his drinking and alcoholism.
Effie Lee, it’s no wonder from all the loss and sadness she experienced that she died from stomach cancer at age 64. But she lived. She loved fishing and was saluted for her vivaciousness, charm and love during her life. (See newspaper clipping below.)
Brenda is how she was introduced to me three years ago when I moved into the hotel. Black Cat, Black Kitty, Rosa and I’m sure there were other names she had over the nineteen and a half years she lived. I’ve been calling her Monkey. She wondered into the hotel during a Valentine party back in 2005. Bob, a long time resident here took her in and she never left. He guesses she was around six months old at the time. I wasn’t pet sitting when I moved in. It was Covid times. Brenda and I quickly bonded. She spent days in my room, wondering out for her meals and back in to sleep at the end of the bed at night. Bob lives on the 2nd floor, I live on the 3rd. Brenda still went down to spend time with him. He fed her and kept the litter box down there.
Once I starting pet sitting again, I missed her but knew our community was taking care of her. It sure was a sweet greeting coming home each time, having her pitter pattering behind me, prancing into my room as the door swung open. She’d stare wide eyed at me until I presented her a treat. She had me wrapped around her paw.
A year or so ago, someone moved in on the 2nd floor. She brought along her kitty. Brenda was not happy about it nor were most of us tenants. That’s when Brenda moved herself upstairs staying on the couch in the community room when I wasn’t home. We accommodated her with a new spot for her litter box and meals served to her on the 3rd floor.
Brenda comforted me after knee surgery and again through anal cancer treatment. Her usual spot was at the end of the bed never next to me, occasionally submitting to my kisses and hugs. I was touched and sure she contributed to my healing when she’d rest again my bum.
A week after my return from a three week trip Brenda wasn’t pitter pattering behind me when I came home. Another housemate noticed she was constipated. Fortunately, I had a few days off from pet sitting. After a visit to Sentinel Emergency Vet this past Thursday blood test showed her kidneys were failing, diabetes and anemia. Just days before I had seen a friend’s post about a woman who provides in-home euthanasia, Dr, Janet Alviar, with Twilight Paws. After a call to her and house mates Janet made arrangements to come the next day. The experience was tender, respectful and the best one would hope for. Monkey was able to be surrounded by several who loved her in the home she had known all her 19 1/2 years.
I held it together through it all until yesterday morning, the day after her death. Waking I reached to pet her and heard a meow. My morning tears left me rung out for the rest of the day. Last night I had the comfort of the sweetest dog I’m pet sitting. He slept on my lap, then next to me for the remainder of the night as I dreamt and woke to sweet memories with Monkey.
After a three week trip to Oregon which was filled with fun, friends, laughing, crying, blackberry picking, blueberry picking, floating the river, floating in a bird sanctuary at sunset and good food I’m back to life at the hotel. I love my friends in Oregon so much. It was such a gift to have my health and energy that hasn’t been there for years so we could play. I was ready to get back to the hotel where I live and check on Robert, the 84 year old owner, and the eighteen year old black kitty. Both of them are unique and getting old. Brenda, the kitty, has never had vaccines or check ups. Robert doesn’t go to the doctor unless it’s an emergency. He did get the Covid vaccines. Both of them are loners but sometimes like the company of others. It was late afternoon when I climbed the stairs to my third floor room. Brenda, aka Black Kitty or Monkey, followed behind me into my room for the treat she knew was waiting for her. Once I kissed her on the nose, I headed to the second floor room just below mine. The news was blaring so I knew Robert was home. “Who’s there?” he hollered after my knock. I peeked in saying, “Frances”. He smiled, “Boy, am I glad to see you. I missed you, not only technically but emotionally.” After our catch up conversation, I let him know I could do his laundry and I would make his favorite oatmeal in the morning. He grinned like a kid on the way to get ice cream. I’m guessing those are the “technical” reasons he missed me. Last summer some dear friends came through town. On my visit to Oregon, Terry, shared the photos he had taken of the hotel. He captured the essence of the hotel that’s hard to describe until you see it, maybe something out of another time and place.
Doing this thing called life and enjoying it, if I don’t listen to the news too much. Physically feeling good, better than I have in years. Winter is over, sunshine and warmth are in the foreseeable forecast. Robert, the owner of the building I live in, has made it to age 84 with no immediate health issues. He does require eye drops everyday and an anti-viral due to the shingles a year ago that went to his eye. So get your shingles vaccine. I’ve had my first and waiting until I have a day or two to lay low after the 2nd shot. There were no side effects from the 1st shot but I’ve heard from folks and the doctor the 2nd shot can make you feel yucky. Not too much news to report from the hotel I live in. Our house kitty, Brenda, became constipated yesterday. Thank goodness one of my housemates, took her to the vet to get relief since I am pet sitting for the next few weeks. Brenda is old, we think around 17, and really in pretty good shape for her age. A friend of mine is coming for a few months this summer and will rent a room at the hotel. That will be fun. Living at the hotel is such a good fit for my life right now. Very low rent, downtown living, even though it’s community living there is space for autonomy and privacy. A nice mix. My 3rd floor room is spacious with southern facing windows. I get my house and yard fix when I house sit. Presently, I am pet sitting for long time friends who happen to live next door to a house I rented for years tucked into a central quiet neighbor hood. I was touched yesterday when the owner who now lives in the house came out to say hello and mentioned I was her favorite renter. Again, it was the perfect little house for me when I moved back to Missoula in 2010. My love of animals and babies has a place to go with a calendar full of pet sitting and babysitting. With mom’s permission I share with you some joy and the reason, my lips are numb today from going along with this little guy yesterday. Enjoy your weekend and thanks for reading.
It’s -15 degrees with a wind chill of -30. I’m going nowhere today. Thankful to be in between pet sits for a couple of days at home, snuggling with Brenda the cat. A house mate came home with lots of food from his work (a grocery store) ground beef and spaghetti included. I volunteered to make a pot of spaghetti today. It’s my kind of day; cooking, reading and not going out in the cold. Tomorrow, temps will start to warm up considerably and I’ll be with a great dog in a great house for the weekend, sharing a meal with a friend on Christmas Eve.
I mainly wanted to share with you, my essay that came out in Insider yesterday.
Did it again, used the easy, no fuss turkey recipe. For the 3rd time it did not let us down. I wonder if I’ll ever try another turkey recipe, would there be a reason to? Maybe just for the adventure of it. We will find out in the years to come.
Thanksgiving at the hotel continues to be my favorite day for all of us who live here. It’s a humble holiday, no fan fare required. The only structure is that the turkey will be ready around 4:00 so others plan their cooking around that. Black kitty, Brenda, got about ten meals throughout the day, turkey, turkey innards, and her regular kitty food. She still tried to tell me she was hungry before we snuggled up for bed!
Once we fill our plates with all the fixings, sat down to stuff our faces, any little irks (believe me they come up when you have fifteen people living under one roof, sharing bathrooms and kitchens) are long forgotten and we are thankful to be under the same roof, happy and mostly healthy. They even made a community toast to our group effort in beating f—ing anal cancer. They all have been so sweet, always checking in to see if I needed anything, hanging in my room for a cup of tea and a visit.
Honestly, it was the first day in a few weeks that I had energy and an appetite. At one point in the afternoon, I thought I was down for the count, but after a short rest, some food and hydration I made it for dinner time, dessert, followed by nerf gun wars in the hallways. Maybe I’ve turned a corner. For the past two weeks I have hardly gotten out of bed, felt like I had lead in my legs and no food sounded good. It was a bit depressing. They, the nurses, had warned though, saying it will get worse before it gets better. It’s still not comfortable to sit directly on my bottom, but that’s getting better too.
The sun is shining today in Missoula and I’m thankful not to be going to any Black Friday sales. I’ve got a project or two to keep my busy and a bit of clean up from yesterday.
It’s helping my spirits, knowing I’m getting back to my pet sitting gigs. I got even better news when I went by to get last minute instructions for my dog sit starting Monday. Rafa, the dog, has the same routine as me. In the mornings, he gets up for breakfast then demands everyone get back in bed for a bit. We will get along beautifully.
One more piece of good news, I revised an essay I wrote last year, submitted it to Insider and it was accepted, my first paid piece of writing. Once it’s live, you will be the first to know.
This is the hard part. They warned me these last two weeks may be the worse. I’ve been nauseated since Friday. Can’t eat. No energy. I make myself go outside and stand in the sun. It’s lonely. It’s unsettling. I fear I will die alone, but many of us do. I want to hear my family’s voices.
That’s today and the past few days. This too shall pass.
Fscottwrites 