Simon may be a slimmer version of himself, but at 4:11 a.m., his paws still feel like ReBar rods poking my sternum. I was aware of an approaching cat and when I heard him hop onto the banker box that's next to my side of the bed (he's not as sure of his jumps as he used to be), I knew who it was. What surprised me was that he climbed onto me like he'd just scaled Mount Everest, and planted those lethal paws with the same intensity of the Marines at Iwo Jima.
Normally I can drift back to dreamland with a cat comfortably parked against me, but on me? Not hardly. I hung in there for a bit before I secured him and rolled onto my side. Didn't matter. Couldn't find a cool spot on the mattress, Big Kitty began to snore, and I was hemmed in by a needy cat, and I knew all I could hope for was just some rest.
When I gave up, it was not yet 6:00, the world was still quiet before the hum of humanity ruined the peace, and it was dark, except for a slightly lighter shade of charcoal in the northern sky.
All colors have warm and cool tones. Greys in particular have them, and that sky had a mere hint of pink to it, but also a sniff of yellow. Elisir di Lavazza in hand, I burrowed into the fleece on the loveseat and peered out the front window. The hill was still black, but it was already punctuated by yellow rectangles near the top. There are some mighty early risers up there.
I had a very nosy neighbor across the street, so when I used to write morning pages, I did so with a tiny book light, which allowed me to look out the window without her figuring out I was awake. It was a little game I played, just to be capricious. But to this day, if I am up at that hour, I need to write and I still do it with a tiny light, even though my nosy nemesis has been laid to rest, as of a month or so ago. Her immediate relative lives next door, so now the game continues with my book light hidden from Gladys Kravitz. (The nickname is so appropriate - I cannot even begin to describe!)
We had a day of warmth on Saturday, that was just lovely enough to lull us into thinking that the Vernal Equinox would bring temperate weather. We often forget that we are not out of the woods until May 10th, our last date of frost. And so when Mother Nature brought rain and chill for St. Patrick's Day, we were shocked and put off by her insensitivity. After all, on Saturday the air was enlivened by the music of children's laughter, the sounds of bouncing basketballs and the shouts of fathers and kids as they passed, dribbled and shot. Couldn't Mother Nature have given us a pleasant Sunday, too? Twas not to be. She had to remind us that this is still winter because she is in charge of this seasonal show, and that is that.
It's okay. That one day served as a reminder that soon we'll have weeks of that, so whatever remains incomplete inside our domains must be finished up. We'll want to be outdoors, and if there are inside chores hanging over our heads, we'll become overwhelmed and unable to drink in the shifting of the seasons. Besides, Mother Nature, in all her wisdom, bestowed us with grains, the wit to distill them and on St. Patrick's Day weekend, a bit of the resultant gargle was enough to let me sing The Queen of Connemara - on key! Truly, that was a gift from the divine and I, a card-carrying member of The Singing Impaired Society of America, shall treasure that!
Normally I can drift back to dreamland with a cat comfortably parked against me, but on me? Not hardly. I hung in there for a bit before I secured him and rolled onto my side. Didn't matter. Couldn't find a cool spot on the mattress, Big Kitty began to snore, and I was hemmed in by a needy cat, and I knew all I could hope for was just some rest.
When I gave up, it was not yet 6:00, the world was still quiet before the hum of humanity ruined the peace, and it was dark, except for a slightly lighter shade of charcoal in the northern sky.
All colors have warm and cool tones. Greys in particular have them, and that sky had a mere hint of pink to it, but also a sniff of yellow. Elisir di Lavazza in hand, I burrowed into the fleece on the loveseat and peered out the front window. The hill was still black, but it was already punctuated by yellow rectangles near the top. There are some mighty early risers up there.
I had a very nosy neighbor across the street, so when I used to write morning pages, I did so with a tiny book light, which allowed me to look out the window without her figuring out I was awake. It was a little game I played, just to be capricious. But to this day, if I am up at that hour, I need to write and I still do it with a tiny light, even though my nosy nemesis has been laid to rest, as of a month or so ago. Her immediate relative lives next door, so now the game continues with my book light hidden from Gladys Kravitz. (The nickname is so appropriate - I cannot even begin to describe!)
We had a day of warmth on Saturday, that was just lovely enough to lull us into thinking that the Vernal Equinox would bring temperate weather. We often forget that we are not out of the woods until May 10th, our last date of frost. And so when Mother Nature brought rain and chill for St. Patrick's Day, we were shocked and put off by her insensitivity. After all, on Saturday the air was enlivened by the music of children's laughter, the sounds of bouncing basketballs and the shouts of fathers and kids as they passed, dribbled and shot. Couldn't Mother Nature have given us a pleasant Sunday, too? Twas not to be. She had to remind us that this is still winter because she is in charge of this seasonal show, and that is that.
It's okay. That one day served as a reminder that soon we'll have weeks of that, so whatever remains incomplete inside our domains must be finished up. We'll want to be outdoors, and if there are inside chores hanging over our heads, we'll become overwhelmed and unable to drink in the shifting of the seasons. Besides, Mother Nature, in all her wisdom, bestowed us with grains, the wit to distill them and on St. Patrick's Day weekend, a bit of the resultant gargle was enough to let me sing The Queen of Connemara - on key! Truly, that was a gift from the divine and I, a card-carrying member of The Singing Impaired Society of America, shall treasure that!
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