I’ll spare you all the graphic TMI details, but for a few weeks I was pretty sure I had colon cancer.
Turns out I have diverticulitis, which is, as one friend pointed out, no picnic, but it’s a walk in the park compared to cancer treatments, or worse.
But prior to my diagnosis, I was thinking I was facing cancer (sans health insurance, and that’s a whole other column – as an aside, my favorite moment was in a health clinic lobby where the phlebotomist came out and asked for $118 before she would draw blood …).
Now that I know it’s not cancer, I feel I’ve totally dodged a bullet. I’ve vowed to live a more fiber-filled existence, low on stress and high on more sleep and relaxation and fun and hydration.
I’m keeping my eyes open for divine guidance, whether about how to run a small business in the worst economy of my lifetime, or how to deal with the fact that my very stupid decision in 2011 to cash in my retirement (seemed like a good idea at the time) will mean thousands of dollars in tax penalties owed in 2012 to punish me for early withdrawal. I’m talking thousands, like more than 10.
My inclination is to close my eyes, breathe into a paper bag, click the heels of my red shoes together and hope that the Publishers’ Clearinghouse Sweepstakes comes knocking on my door with a big check, or that Oprah or Bill Gates or someone like that makes a huge donation to anewscafe.com (I’ll make dinner for them if they do, plus enter them into drawings for cool prizes).
Despite the above-mentioned realities, as part of my do-0ver Doni practice, I’m a living cliche. I’m taking things in stride, I’m counting my blessings, I’m going with the flow and taking one day at a time. I’m also on high-alert for signs and messages.
No wonder I intitially paid extra attention to my Sunday encounter with an infant squirrel in my backyard. We met while I was pruning my lemon tree and talking with my daughter on the phone (I’m weaning myself from multi-tasking … baby steps … ) when the tiny squirrel ran over my foot.
I screamed, because my first thought was “rat” – until I saw him. He was no longer than my cell phone … just a small gray guy with searching dark eyes. He was still as a plaster lawn ornament.
He was so adorable, just as adorable as the squirrel featured in an email sent to me that very morning about how a baby squirrel ended up being “adopted” by one family’s pregnant dog, and when the mother dog gave birth, it allowed the little squirrel to snuggle, sleep and even nurse beside the puppies. So cute.
Gosh, until that email, I had no idea squirrels could be so tame. And now, sitting before me just a few inches away, was a live squirrel.
Coincidence? I think not.
When my daughter, on the other end of the phone, asked about the commotion, I told her about the furry little creature who seemed comfortable enough to sit still while I snapped some close-up pictures. I’d never seen a squirrel do that. But then, I’d never seen such a small squirrel, either. Maybe the baby ones are born unafraid of humans.
Or maybe, just maybe, that little squirrel was a sign – one sent just for me.
With that in mind, I gave my daughter the bum’s rush so I could hang up and photograph the little cutie-pie squirrel sitting at my feet. I kept moving closer and closer until we were just a few inches away from each other. He only shifted slightly, as if to allow me to photograph his better side.
Suddenly he ran for the swimming pool, jumped in, squirrel-paddled to the other side and climbed out, panting and wet.
I’ve seen scores of squirrels in my back yard, and I’ve seen many lean over the pool edge for a drink, but I’d never seen a squirrel take a swim. This was a first. This was one very special squirrel.
The dripping little squirrel came over to where I worked, and looked up at me. Plucky little fella.
I like animals, but I tend to like them better at a distance because I’m keenly aware animals are wild, and they often have sharp teeth and claws, and mites, fleas and ticks. But this little squirrel … this guy was a heart-melter.
Still wearing my pruning gloves, I carefully bent down and reached to gently stroke the squirrel’s fluffy, damp tail with just the tips of my finger.
The squirrel went ape-shit. He whirled in a squirreling dervish as he attacked my glove and growled. I’m serious. He growled.
My infatuation with the squirrel was officially over.
He raced off across the patio, then army crawled across the concrete. I texted my animal-loving sister a description of the squirrel’s behavior. My sister suggested I call animal control. On a Sunday. About a crazed squirrel.
While I considered this, the squirrel raced up the oak tree, which happens to be one of Redding’s largest heritage oaks. It’s mammoth.
The squirrel quickly disappeared from sight.
I went inside the house, locked all the doors and made sure all the windows were shut.
I’m now on Day 3 of watching for Cujo the Squirrel. In my spare time I’ve checked out a few websites that analyzed animal totems.
Squirrel: negative connotation – scurries back and forth telling stories, elusive.
And …
… As the squirrel is commonly known to hide and save its food and return to it in the winter months – we take this as a sign in our own lives; a sign that it might be time to look into our own provisions. For example: Is it time to consider a retirement plan? Are we adequately insured?
And, finally …
… Meditate upon the squirrel, and ask it to reveal its message to you. Odds are it will share its own special messages with you.
I think I’ve enjoyed all the “special” squirrel messages I can handle in one week.
For now, I think I’ll avoid the back yard. And will resume breathing into a paper bag.
Independent online journalist Doni Chamberlain founded what’s now known as anewscafe.com in 2007 with her son, Joe Domke of the Czech Republic. Prior to 2007 Chamberlain was an award-winning newspaper opinion columnist, feature and food writer recognized by the Associated Press, the California Newspaper Publishers Association and E.W. Scripps. She lives in Redding, CA.
