Rituals (Update)
by tamarjacobson
Watering my plants on Sundays is one of my weekly rituals. I light a couple of beeswax candles in my study that give off a golden yellow light, and nag champa incense in the little Buddha incense holder that Madeline and Milya once bought me for Christmas. Ada settles on the shelf below the violets. She seems to enjoy the mist when I spray the plants after dousing them with water from the burgundy, plastic can. The water fountain Tom gave me for a birthday gift many years ago splashes and tinkles water gently over pebbles and stones gathered on the streets surrounding the old Synagogue in the ancient Juderia of Rhodos last May. As I walk between the rooms watering and spraying the flowering cacti and violets, ferns, and all the other plants reaching for the in-coming spring light, I sigh peacefully and sometimes hum a tune. If Tom is awake I put on music. Perhaps the new Beatles album: "Love," Phillip Glass: "The Hours," or Emmy Lou and Mark Knopfler. They accompany the watering ritual. Candles, incense, Ada, music, fountain.
This morning we started a little later because our clocks have changed. I don’t think the plants noticed, although Ada was a little impatient because her treats seemed a little late in coming this morning.
Treats for Ada is a daily morning ritual. After she has awakened me with a gentle tap of her paw on my cheeks or lips, she runs to the study, jumps up onto her blanket next to my computer and waits. I have to put on my slippers, pour a cup of coffee, complete a few early morning ablutions, and when I finally walk into my room Ada becomes ecstatic, rolling over this way and that and tucking her head up with her lips pulled back into a strange expression. As I open my top drawer she sits upright and stares at it impatiently. I place six little treats on the blanket and she settles down to crunch them up, purring all the while. I turn on the computer, sip at my coffee and stroke her little, warm, furry, gently-vibrating body listening to the crunch and munch and soft purring sounds.
Ada and I start up each day this way.
A year ago at Tamarika: Blimey, what a week that was
Update:
Words of advice about "enjoying the rest of your life." [hat-tip, Ilene]
tamarjacobson 
Tamar,
Wonderful! Thank you for sharing your “kitty” story. Yes indeed, let’s steer clear of all knife-inserters! I *so* know what you mean.
Smiles.
to the kitty part, i can relate, i can relate, i can relate. one of the hardest parts of my bihemispheral life is living in israel and missing my kitty in the USA — and the rituals we share and those i love to observe that are hers alone. my older sister said on the phone after i returned to the USA, “are your cats dead yet?” even many people who don’t “know” me have heard (and possibly seen pix) of my kitty. my one kitty. and i counted to ten silently, then said, “what?” her reply, “oh, the cat [sic] is [sic] old.” and i said, “so? and we are old, too. so?” a meaner set of words she could not have chosen. some people who seek to hurt, know where to insert the knife. i again learned to steer clear of her and other knife inserters. learned, that is, until the next time i forget;-) thanks for the prompt to share my kitty rituals story, a digression tho important for me.