To Live and Love

I had a whole bunch to say about living on this planet, working together, and harmony.

Then all I could come up with to write was this:

You are in charge of your own feelings, and your own reactions.  Try to keep fear out of the equation of YOU.

El Gato Negro

When I lost my Dante-san 2 years ago I decided to forgo pets for the rest of my life.  Dante was my best friend, my travel buddy, and loverboy.  He had many friends, admirers, and nicknames, and he was loved.

This summer I inherited a new kitty, her name is Cleo.  I'll be honest I was not excited at first.  She was standoffish, and let's face it, she looks exactly like Dante which made me feel a little like a traitor.  But she grew on me, she attached to me like glue, and she's just got so much darned character that I couldn't help but fall in love with her.

Cleo is an upside down cat...she is happiest looking up at the world from her back.  If you don't hold her with her feet up and her head in your hands she will get down immediately.  It's almost as if she says "hold me right, or don't hold me at all."








One of the funniest things about this cat is she likes to go on hikes, that is when she's not being a ferocious killing/hunting machine.  So today I took some pictures, and shot some video, of a day in the life of the kitty we refer to as El Gato Negro (or sometimes El Brato Negro because she's a bit of a spoiled brat).

She's a hoot! I'm glad to have her around in my life, she's my little buddy in the garden, she's chatty, she's naughty sometimes, and I'm not ecstatic about the offerings she lays on her alter of homage to me, but she a good little gato.

Here is the you tube video of her hiking: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9EQY_rftRc8

Writing By Hand

In today’s digital world it is most likely that ink never hit paper before your eyes digest whatever it is you read.  Take this blog entry for example, I sat down with my laptop, opened Word, and started pounding away at the keys.

However, before I started this piece I had spent the afternoon reading through the myriad journals, notebooks, scrap pieces of paper, and one beer coaster (that’s another whole story) trying to transfer from paper, into electronic state, all the stories I’ve jotted down along the way.  Some were scenes that are meant to be in a certain screenplay I’ve been working on, others are parts of my novel, and the beer coaster brought back a fantastic memory, and a really deep belly laugh.

I know that computers have made a lot of things so much easier, and efficient, but there is just something about holding a pen in your hand, pressing it onto paper and hearing your own voice as you see it flow through your fingers and mark the page.  It’s certainly more romantic than listening to the clacking of keys, it’s prettier than a white screen with blocky black letters, and it is vastly more sensual than the feel of plastic under your fingertips and metal digging into your wrist.

I’ve found when I’m excited I grip the pen tight, and race through the curves of cursive so fast that when I go back to read it I can sense my eagerness to tell the story.  Or when I’m really lost in the beauty of a thought, my technique is more fluid (and legible) and tends to be more precise.

There is an intrinsic therapy in actually picking up a pen, and writing your thoughts down on actual paper.  And although I have done the electronic journaling thing, it’s just not the same.  When I need to heal a deep crevice of my soul, or release a fantastic story from my mind, the only way I can get it done is to put hand to pen, and pen to paper.

Joe Bonsall - From My Perspective

I went to The Oakridge Boys concert last night in Gypsum.  I was excited to be there because up until a few days before I wasn't sure if my work schedule was going to allow me to go. 

Thinking that I was not going to make it to the show, I called my friend Crissy to ask if she would please take my copy of Joe Bonsall's book From My Perspective to the concert and get him to sign it for me.

Incredulous she said, "I can't beleive the Oaks are going to be 5 miles away from you, and you are not going to move heaven and earth to see them. I mean, it's not very often they get this close."

She was right, so I set to work and wiggled my time slots so I could head down. Boy was it worth it.  I know I'm a music freak, and a geek, and any other crazy word that describes how incredibly attached I am to song.  And I've been an Oaks fan since I was very young, knowing them personally makes that connection so much stronger.

I was hanging with Joe backstage catching up (I haven't seen him for two whole years) and pulled out my book for him to sign.  He was delighted, then he looked up and said "You know you're in the book right?"

Stunned, I said "Really?"

He said, "yes, remember the conversation we had one time before a show a couple years ago?"

I said, "you mean the one about guardian angels?"

He smiled, "No, but that was a good one too.  It was the one about suicide, and how it's hard to understand how one person who has cancer fights his heart out to live and doesn't make it, and at the same time another person ends his life on purpose. And the whole nonsense of it all."

I was dumbfounded.  I had read the book, most of it, but had not gotten all the way.  The chapter that features me, is right at the back, and he even put the address of this blog in there.  Well, that was a good kick in the butt.

You see, I got bullied into discontinuing my contributions to this blog, and being the pleaser/peacekeeper that I am, I put it to rest.  But last night, and on into today I've thought about those words Joe Bonsall wrote, "I just read a piece by a very inspiring writer and friend, Tiffany Truitt.  You can find her writings at tiffanytruitt.blogspot.com."

Wow.  I am honored.  But you know what?  Joe isn't the only one who likes what I write, there are many, but most of them are family, most notably Dale who is my number one supporter.  Then there is my cousin Melissa who coaxes me with incredible doses of love to "do this thing with your words" (she thinks I am gifted and meant to share).

So, on my drive into work I asked the big man upstairs, "what do you think?"

Ever so sweetly and in the soft voice of love that I have grown to depend on in this life he said, "I gave this gift to you, it's up to you how you use it.  But, use it."

So, thank you Joe Bonsall for the kind words.  Thank you my supporters and biggest fans. But I must give the most thanks to my friend and creator for the gift, and never giving up on me.

Hang on folks, here we go.

Sooner Rather Than Later

It occurs to me that in all my writing my Mom shows up a good bit. It also occurs to me that I haven't mentioned one person who is very special to me quite as often.

When Mom died I was fortunate enough to have another woman waiting in the wings. Dale, my extra Mom, has been in my life since I was 7, and was married to my father when the rug got yanked out from under me 31 years ago.

When I read the last entry I made, which was on my Mom, I realized that I didn't want to be writing about someone important to me in past tense. I was overwhelmed with the desire to write about her while she's here, while she can read it, while she can appreciate and know how very integral and special she has been in my life.

It took me a while to shift gears, and adjust to a different style. As I adjusted I began to see the passion, and fierce love that resides behind the quiet. I saw a woman who chooses her words carefully, someone who will sit and listen until you run out of things to say, a person who will give you space or be at your side whenever you ask.

Some people go their whole lives without the kind of love I've experienced in my life, and every now and then it's good to remind myself how fortunate I am. So, in writing this entry I'm truly blessed to have had two extraordinary women to fill the role of "Mom".

This is the first, but it will not be the last on my extra Mom, Dale.

31 Years Ago Today - My Mom

Thirty one years ago today, my entire life turned on a dime.

My Mom, my best friend, was there one minute and gone the next. I woke up to the phone ringing at 6:00 am, and hearing my friend Kim’s mom say into the phone “Oh God NO”. But before I heard those words, before the end of the first ring of the telephone I already knew.

Some people believe in premonition, intuition, the sixth sense…others don’t. I do.

Through the advances in technology, I have been able to reconnect with many of Mom’s friends who I have not seen since the day of her memorial service. I am grateful for this, and thankful to hear all the memories these people have of my mom.

My reactions have changed over the years, and along the way I have obtained a “handle” on the loss. What I have not done is forget. I am not crippled by the loss, as I was for so many years immediately following her death. I have a healthy perspective on the whole thing, life goes on, and you must move on with it or be trapped in an ugly reality that never ends.

Dad and I periodically have a discussion that goes somewhat like this “If you could trade your hand in for a completely new one(without knowing what’s in the new hand), or keep the hand you’ve got, what would you do?” I would “keep the hand I’ve got”, but if I could just trade one card, I would have Mom back.

As my Uncle Ray so perfectly put it, “I’m still pissed about that one”. I have to agree with him, it was a loss that could have been prevented. There were idiots at the helm, and the ship sank, period.

But, you cannot change the past, and we will never know the breadth of God’s master plan and my Mom’s part in it.

So, today as I reflect and remember a woman who gave me so much and crammed more things into my life in 14 years than most kids get in a lifetime from a parent, I thank God that I had her at all.

Thank you to all my friends who love me, support me, and know when to swoop in, and pull me out of a free fall into the abyss. The gift of so many friends is a blessing. I love you all very much, you are the furniture in my soul, and the art hangin on the walls of my heart.

The Joy in the Journey

I have my lists on paper, and plans in my head. Today I stopped in my tracks when I couldn't remember what I rushing to go do.

Now some experts would say that what happened is just a fact of aging, that your short term memory is the first to go. I happen to disagree.

I think that as we grow older there are so many more choices and possibilities, and I think in our haste to experience and achieve, we miss all the things along the way that made the experience or achievement meaningful.

As I stood there trying to remember, a hawk swooped down for a try at dinner, the grass waved in the breeze, and I saw the most beautiful bright blue flower peeking up at me from the ground. In my moment of stillness I realized how many millions of really cool things we miss when we hurry.

I felt as if God had tapped me on the shoulder, and said "hey, slow down little one, you're missing my show."

It's a magnificent show, it plays everyday, and it is a must see.

Then I remembered where I was headed, and suddenly it wasn't worth rushing for, so I took it a little slower.

You can't remember the future, but you can remember the present.

Words From My Mom

"If you don't have anything nice to say ... don't say anything at all"

Good words to practice.

All Those Who Wander Are Not Lost

There's a little gypsy in my soul. Maybe from a past life? Maybe a little genetics?

Whatever it is, know that I am not lost, even if I wander :)

Soul Diving

My cousin Meli's blog ...

http://souldiving.blogspot.com/

Dante Is Off To Kitty Heaven

I knew this day would come. I was made aware that it would be sooner than later last December at his vet check up. His kidneys were failing, it might be a short, or long time he would stay with me, no solid answer.

So, it was today. I had to make the decision. It is by far the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

So, indulge me as I pay tribute to my best friend, my companion, my joy of the last 15 years.

I called him "the dog in drag" as he possessed so many canine traits. He would fetch a q-tip, spit it out at my feet, wiggle with anticipation, and then fetch it again, and again. He would take walks with me, and beg for attention (and food).

He remembered me, even when I had lost my memory after my head injury, and had completely forgotten him.

He traveled thousands of miles on road trips with me, perched on his pallet at window height so he could watch the miles go by, or happily "stowed under the seat in front of me".

He liked to bring me live gifts ... he was so proud.

He saved me from dying of carbon monoxide poisoning.

I will miss his little flirty purr talk, head butts, kitty kisses, and requests to come under the covers, and so much more. I will miss knowing there is a warm little buddy waiting for an ear scratch and a good snuggle.

I thought I'd be able to write more, but I just can't, I want to touch him, not write about him.

I will miss ... well, I will miss him, all of him.

Two At Sixteen

Two At Sixteen - by Tiffany Lee Truitt

They were about to turn sixteen, two girls.
For her birthday One wished desperately for a new car, the other a new heart.
One told her father she “would just die” if she didn’t get what she wanted.
The other One really would.

A warm spring day, sunshine, blue sky.
One took off for a drive in her new car, top down, and music up.
The other looked out her hospital room window. Maybe today.
One blissfully young, the other wise beyond her years.

Winding roads, sunny day, wind in the hair, the freedom of speed.
Bluebird on the window sill, she watched it fly. Free. Maybe that will be me.

They met that afternoon. Two girls.
One was confused.
One knew exactly what was going on.

Two sixteen year old girls, lifted in prayer.
One barely holding on.
One barely holding on.

“I don’t know you,” One said.
“No, you don’t”
“I hear my Mom and Dad calling,” One said.
“Me too.”

They both watched.
People praying, doctors working, angels gathering.

One stayed, and One went back.
“I have a new heart,” One said.
Soft wings gathered the other One up.

A clear blue sky, a soft breeze, family and friends gathered.
Two watching.

“I waited,” One said.
One was confused.
“It doesn’t always work,” One said.
“I see.”

Two sixteen year olds flew on the wings of angels.
Their roles on earth perfectly played.
A tragedy on earth.
A standing ovation in Heaven.

© Tiffany Lee Truitt - all rights reserved.

Sweet Sugar Kisses

I put Taylor (9) and Lily(4) down for bed tonight. They gave me sweet sugar kisses goodnight and snuggled up close as I sang soft songs to put them to sleep.


Taylor rested her head on my chest and said, "I love you Aunt Tiff". I kissed the top of her head and rested my cheek there wishing I could protect her from any, and everything, that would ever harm her.

Little Lily fisted one hand, and tucked it up under her chin, the other hand she took and put on my face. With her thumb and forefinger resting on my lips, she strummed the other three on my cheek keeping rhythm on an invisible instrument as I sang.

I lay there with both girls in my arms, in the stillness of the dark room, listening to their breathing as they began their nights journey to sleep. It's such a short trip for the little ones compared to we adults. They don't lay there worrying, or working, in their mind chasing sleep from their night.

Lily's hand spread up over my cheek as her little nose rested under my jaw, her breath softly warming my neck as she yawned and sighed. Her little body moved with those micro twitches that precede complete surrender to sleep.

My soul recognized this peace from days so long ago in my youth. It wanted to capture the moment to save and replicate somehow for days in my future, days that I know will tax me to extreme limits, and days when people will come in and kick the furniture of my soul, rudely and without permission.

As I slipped away from these two slumbering angels, little pieces of my heart stayed behind to weave their way into the security blankets of these precious sweet girls.

Like A River To The Sea

I am very predictable, and yet not.

My father will tell you he always keeps the possibility of a curve ball from me in the back of his mind. Good strategy.

I can conform when I need to, or if it serves a purpose, then I will take off on my own, follow a lost trail, the road less traveled, and love the journey. This would definitely be my mother in me, and I'm very proud of that part of my gene pool. She had the most fun while she was on this planet.

It seems I am missing her a lot lately, must be because I'm traveling, and that was her favorite thing to do. Actually her favorite thing to do was travel with me, so I'm thinking she's been pretty present on this trip. Yet another predictable thing, Mom with me while I travel.

As predictable as some things are, so many things are up in the air for me these days ... would prefer to get back being a river heading for the sea ... the known. There goes that need for control again. Will I ever learn this lesson?