Sharon's Blurb

 He fell out of the sky one day last summer, landing at the horse barn. A tiny, bright coloured green, yellow and blue budgie. He was caught and put in a pretty cage in the tack room. And there he stayed. For days. Weeks. Months. A tiny room with a closed door so the barn cat couldn't get in. A cage with only two perches, a water dish and a seed dish. The thought was that his owner would want him back. But despite repeated and numerous attempts to find an owner, none ever showed up to claim him. Perhaps he had escaped through an open window somewhere. Perhaps he was set free intentionally. They can be noisy. I brought him a few seed sticks, where he would get some enrichment having to chew away to get to those tasty treats. I brought him a couple of hanging toys, so he would have something to do and wouldn't be lonely. And then, November came. It turned cold. The heater in the tack room was on high, but it would sometimes get overheated and t...

  "Did you bring your gloves?" I found myself involuntarily asking my senior client the other day. "It's really windy out today - don't get blown away!" I then blurted out without thinking that they are a grown-assed adult and don't need to be reminded about that! Least of all from me! I have never had children and am not a birth mother. In my 20's I yearned for children, as one does when one's hormones are in peak form. However, by the time I hit 30, I came to my senses. I had a lovely little career in broadcasting going by that time and didn't want to put that on the shelf to have children. A choice I have never regretted to this day. My maternal instincts have been satisfied doting on numerous pets, however. And more recently, some long repressed motherly instincts are rearing their lovely heads, and I find myself turning into my mother. Something they say all women do, eventually. In a good way. And now, I find I...

 I have recently realized that giving someone a tour of my home office may be off- putting. There, atop the rolltop desk, sits the beautiful lavender urn containing my mother's remains, surrounded by some lovely mementos like her stuffed toys and chocolates wrapped in purple and mauve. A short distance away, at the other end of the top of the rolltop, sit the urns of Peanut and Ivan, my two beloved cats who were brothers, born of Princess, and who both died at 15 years of age within two months of each other.  Bonded even in death. Next to the rolltop desk sits a bookcase, and atop that, a small urn with some of the remains of my younger brother, Wayne, who passed at the age of 55 from complications of pneumonia.   Surrounding him are more than a dozen miniature motorcycle models that were once his, a baby shoe, his handprint in plaster, and other memorabilia from his life that I have dedicated to him in a mini-shrine of sorts. Back to the rolltop display is...