The phenomenon of catering to pets is not a new occurrence adopted by twenty-first century pet owners. Ever since the relationship between humans and animals began there has always been a desire to pamper their domesticated friends. And though there are many varieties from which to choose… starting with four-legged to two-legged with wings… to those with fins and others with scales.. it appears that the cat has gained its place within the high rankings of favoritism.
Let us go back a mere 10,000 years ago, to the Fertile Crescent where the first wild cats are known to have roamed. But like most humans that came in from their Nomadic lifestyle, a yearning to have a pet must have been prevalent. In ancient Egypt cats were worshiped, mummified, and kept on leashes. (Hmmm, now that may be taking things a bit far for your liking.) Well, it appears that back in the Roman Days, say around 31 BC, cats also came in from the cold and were introduced to Roman life.
Cats were said to have traveled on the Mayflower, gaining access to America from Europe, leading up centuries later, to 1885, where they showed off their fur at the first cat show in Madison Square Garden. By World War I they had taken control of many a household, domesticating their owners… as they so like to do.
Therefore, it should not surprise you that the affection for the feline has not changed, although their culinary tastes may have been altered. One has only to stroll a cart down the grocery store aisle or pet-supermarket (as they are now called) to see that our cats consume meals that would get many human salivary glands going. A cat’s dinner sounds like the menu from a gourmet restaurant: Tasty Pairings shredded meat topped with diced veggies, Natural Balance tuna and pumpkin in broth, salmon, tuna and crab in gravy, and chicken in creamy crab sauce.
So, the next time you look in the refrigerator and say there is nothing to eat, you are probably searching in the wrong place; check the kitchen pantry for the cat food, there you’ll find a feast-a-waiting! (But you may have to arm-wrestle the cat for it!)
Today’s post brings to you the esteemed thinker: Carl August Sandburg (1878 – 1967) American poet, historian, novelist, and folklorist. Born in Galesburg, Illinois of Swedish parents, he was a poor boy. Having left school at thirteen to help support the family, he worked washing dishes and laying bricks. At seventeen he served in the army during the Spanish American War. When he returned he worked his way through a small college, Lombard, where he became recognized for his writing talents. There he met and married Lillian Steichen (whom he called Paula), sister of the photographer Edward Steichen. It was their move to Chicago that propelled his career becoming recognized as a member of the Chicago literary renaissance, which included Ben Hecht, Theodore Dreiser, and Sherwood Anderson. During his writing career, Sandburg won two Pulitzer Prizes, one for his biography of Abraham Lincoln Abraham Lincoln: The War Years and one for his collection The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg.
I now bring to you a most famous poem titled Fog, originally published in 1916 in his collection of poetry. Although is a very short poem by most standards, it has been analyzed in a multitude of studies, however if you were to ask out feline friends they would most likely say, “it is a poem that subtly brings the cat ever more close to the heart.”
“The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.”
First image: Thought Bubbles- Nanette L. Avery
Second image: Carl Sandburg, World-Telegram & Sun photo by Al Ravenna. 1955.
When it comes to hearty, size is not always the defining feature. Most of us have the perception that “big” equates to strong, however that particular idea is frequently a misconception. It is often in nature where we witness “small” being just as robust as its counterpart. A mighty oak is surely a visual spectacle of greatness however; it is the tiny crocus that often seems to defy all weather challenges put forth upon it.
The crocus is one of the first blooms appearing even as early as January; a time when most dwellers of North America are still donning winter coats. So don’t be surprised to see these flowers’ colorful little “heads” pop up out of the ground before all the others… and they will remain faithfully in bloom, with buds held high defying its covering of snow, gently unfolding towards the sun as if they were sunbathing on the beach!
Today’s blog brings you the acclaimed American author, Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888). Born in Germantown, Pennsylvania, she is best known for her novel Little Woman. Alcott’s parents were progressives for the time, taking part in the mid-19th century social reform movement, supporting the abolition of slavery and even acting as station-masters on the Underground Railroad. They were also active in the temperance and women’s rights movements.
Louisa May Alcott was educated mainly by her father, although Thoreau, Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Margaret Fuller were family friends, also providing her lessons. She began writing when she was young, and she and her sisters enjoyed acting out some of her stories.
During the American Civil War, she volunteered to sew clothes and provide other supplies to soldiers. Including volunteering to be a nurse in Washington, D.C.
Her career as an author was wide spread, including stories and poems. A lesser-known part of her work are the passionate, fiery novels and stories under the pseudonym A. M. Barnard. In her later life, Alcott became an advocate of women’s suffrage, and was the first woman to register to vote in Concord, Massachusetts.
From her novel, Little Men (1871) I now bring you a quote; few in words but mighty in spirit…like the crocus.
“Love is a flower that grows in any soil, works its sweet miracles undaunted by autumn frost or winter snow, blooming fair and fragrant all the year, and blessing those who give and those who receive.”
The seaside and poetry, a gentle mix of rolling words and water.
For those of us who are in the throws of falling leaves and are waking up to trees exchanging leaves of green for colors of harvest, today’s post brings to you my poem… “When it’s fall”….