Some loose ends

We had to put our cat Melvis down last Saturday, Oct. 11. He was about 18 years old and his health had gone down hill pretty fast -- bumps on his head that were expanding almost daily, he lost weight, lost control of his ability to use the litter box and was having siezures. He had been blind for years.

He was a good kitty. He loved being held and purred like a lawn mower. He was great with kids. He let them pick him up and drag him all over the house. He even put up with our spawn-of-the-devil little dog Mischa.

We now have no cats in the house -- the first time in 20 years. It's symbolic a bit in the changes Jayne and I have gone through over those decades. It also shows how old we and our family are getting, and how fragile our social network is.

Out of state

Our friend and a teacher for our girls is leaving the state, like so many others. Cheri Pedric is heading south. She has been a friend and art teacher since the girls were in kindergarten. We will miss her.

She has taught them how to express themselves in drawing, writing and other ways. The girls have really blossomed with her help -- Elspeth has a great creative drawing and writing ability, and Alyasa is really coming into her own with sketching and imagining fantastic stories. Alyssa also received a districtwide Art-A-Loan award last year.

The job of creativity

The last loss for me is less tangible. I was recently assessed by an important person as not being creative. I was told I have a store of institutional knowledge, am detail-oriented in the sense of punctuation and spelling, but otherwise pretty much a dud. I'm also a poor example to people around me and lead by dictate and not example.

I once had the hubris to believe I was creative at most, or at least different in the most mundane sense. High school and college seemed to reaffirm my thought imprints were at least out of the mainstream -- perhaps they were, but, it seems, things change.

I know I am not hip (never was!), but I thought people could still be creative and not be part of the trends (in fact, I once believed individuality definded creativity!); I am not 20-something, the most desireable of demographics; I don't club hop; I don't read the latest literature and no one reads my prose and poetry; I don't attend a hip church; I have never asked a coworker or subordinate to do something I can't or won't do.

It seems that, besides being full of self-pity, I am behind the times and as creative as a box of hammers.

Thoughts: I am at a loss.