Just before the pandemic (the 2020s I feel the need to say for when we all are history), we were in search of a better situation for our daughter, and we moved her to a private school. She went from a class of 30 to a class of 12, and her academics improved immediately, though our finances did not! As a part of her classroom they had an animal student, the lovely Miss Addie pictured above lounging in her hidey with a tasty piece of bamboo. The school asked for a volunteer family to take her home over the Christmas break, and we volunteered. Addie and I bonded immediately (I am the pet-whisperer), and I must admit I delayed sending her back to school in January by almost a full week. When the school was shut down over Covid in March they asked me again if I would take her, and I eagerly said yes. She moved in with us, and by May the lovely school announced it was going out of business. Addie became family. During the stay-home days our daughter took courses on Outschool (highly recommend) where she learned female guinea pigs preferred to be in pairs. We then adopted Baby from a pet store. It turned out that Addie did not prefer to be in pairs, but eventually a tolerance developed.
When we moved back to California, again for a better school experience for our daughter, we drove across with two cats, two guinea pigs, and one dog. About a year after we settled in, I woke up a few days before Christmas to find Addie had left us. Baby, it turned out, was desperate not to be alone, and went on a hunger strike. After a forcing some food into her for two days (guinea pigs must eat constantly or they die), we adopted Punky (who looks a bit like a pumpkin). This past summer Baby followed Addie to Valhalla, and I saw, stretched before me, a long line of guinea pig adoptions for the rest of my life. I waited with bated breath until, lo and behold, it seemed Punky took after Addie, bless her. She seemed very interested in checking out Baby’s viewing and memorial, but then she was fine to have all the snacks and seed balls and pigetti (corn silk) to herself. She moves, in her luxuriously large cage, from hidey to hidey during the day, alternatively napping and yapping. She has a lot to say to me, and we perform a call and response between us where I say, “Woooo, Punkus!” and she chirps away back at me, whooping louder and louder until I bring her some fantastic treat.
The guinea pigs, as much as I don’t want to have a long line of them stretching to the end of my life in front of me, are part of my life’s rituals, and I love the job, and someday I know I will mourn the loss of it, as I mourn both the beautiful, pink-eyed Addie, and Baby, who looked like a tiny Holstein. Every other morning, without fail, I awake before the sun and the rest of my family, chat away with Punky as I remove all her bedding (I use cloth bedding, nice fluffy fleece pads), and all her hay, and all her snacks and poops, and I clean out the cage. All the linens go into the washer for a hot wash and an extra rinse, and the cage is refitted with clean bedding from my ample supply. Then I top off the snack bin (hay rings, seed balls, vitamin C chews), put in fresh hay, and add in some salad (lettuce, peppers, fresh baby corn, that sort of thing) and set Punky up for her new day. It takes me about 40 minutes (not counting the laundry time) and during that time I do not have to think what move to make next, and my conversation (Wooo Punkus!) pretty much doesn’t change, and is not the most thought provoking. That gives me some early-morning time to freshen up my brain as I freshen up Punky’s cage. We both enjoy it. For me it is both calming, and nurturing as I nurture my little Punky, and there is a clear sense of accomplishment in looking at the “beautiful once again” cage.
Of course, you might think, that’s a lot of work, lady, for a kid’s pet, work that the kid should be doing. My daughter and I traded years ago because, when Addie first moved in, my daughter was too short to clean the cage, and not very quick or proficient at it. I offered to trade emptying the dishwasher (a chore I despise). She agreed. So now she’s stuck with it! And I get the meditative and soothing time with Punky.
I want to address this next paragraph to my fellow non-believers out there, or, perhaps, non-conventional believers is a better term. I was raised really immersed in a traditional Christian church, but, as long as I can remember, though I didn’t really balk against going until late into my HS years, it had no effect on me. I didn’t click into the whole thing. I often read the Bible in church from boredom during the long services, but it came across as fairy tale to me, and the emotions I saw people experience in church were not there for me. Even during my beloved grandmom’s funeral, who loved her church dearly, what I remember feeling, aside from loss, was that I would have preferred to be somewhere else, somewhere emotionally warm, to hold her in my thoughts. I have no doubt that my delight of a grandma is somewhere, in some form, still being a delight, but hooking it into her own religious beliefs is beyond me. So, there are two points I want to make here about that based on my experiences in life: ritual, which is done so well by churches/temples/mosques, and their like, is not owned by them. And life needs ritual for space to process and to get in touch with emotions. We are all different, and some of us need more ritual in life than others, and that ritual can be as simple as how we decorate for holidays, certain meals we make at certain times, celebrating our own birthdays (of course! I’m glad I was born!). Ritual is, really, meditation, and for me it is more profound when it is a natural thing in my life rather than what I would view as a forced, arbitrary movement. The guinea pigs are a delight too. Their personalities remind me of my chubby grandma in many ways. She often whooped, and loved eating too. There’s no reason they should not be connected in my heart and in my thoughts. I love the ritual that they are.
And during the “mundane chore” of cleaning the guinea pig cage I get a lot of writing done (in my mind, not on my computer!). It’s a reset for me as well. There’s no pressure for perfection, and the thoughts roll in and out like a calm tide.
Of course Princess Punky will not outlast me (I am optimistic enough to assume). And I want to just mention my second very early morning ritual that will ride with me to the bitter end. OHHHHHHH…….
All I want is a proper cup of coffee
Made in a proper copper coffee pot
I may be off my dot but I want a proper coffee
In a proper copper pot
Iron coffee pots and tin coffee pots
They are no use to me
If I can't have a proper cup of coffee
In a proper copper coffee pot, I'll have a cup of tea!
Gaze upon my magnificent second morning ritual… coffee made in a proper copper coffee percolator! A percolator has several ritual benefits: there are a few parts to take apart and clean; there is a prescribed way to put it back together, and when it is back together it moans suggestively and bubbles, and scents the air with perfume Chanel should be envious of. It is another opportunity for me to do labor that requires no brain power, that pleases me and affects me directly while also giving benefit to someone else (my spouse), and doing the “chore” brings about visible results that please me. It also offers me a hot cup to sip and enjoy as I slowly move from meditation to sitting down and writing out this post, or some other writing project.
Websters says that a blessing, as a noun, is grace (the thing said before meals), approval or encouragement, or a thing conducive to happiness or welfare (by which I take it Websters means well-being). Rituals are a blessing. And, for me, a lot of my blessings are my routines. I exhort you not to deny yourself of the blessing of your routines, even if they are “chores” (such a dirty word!). Slow them down a bit; use them to slow your thoughts, and plum the richness of repetition, a moment with no planning and no management needed, a moment on autopilot. There are so many writing gems to be found there, as well as quite a lot of balm for the nervous system. Enjoy that walk with your dog, scritches for kitty, a hot cup of coffee, or, if you can’t have a proper cup of coffee, a hot cup of tea. 😉 Whoop whoop!
OLD SCRATCH PRESS 