The Lurking Widow

This morning-- EARLY morning-- I was awakened by my trusty get-into-trouble-dog. He was asking to be let outside. At 5:30 in the morning. Knowing that any hesitation on my part could result in having to clean up an ocean of pee, I rushed my feet into duty, and let my dog out into the backyard. I fully intended to let him watch the rising of the sun outside while I regained unconsciousness. However, after a short few minutes the neighbors behind us turned on their lights.

Normally people can turn on their own house lights without the world turning on me, but that doesn't take into account my dog. You see, just as he is determined to bark relentlessly at a skunk for daring to be on HIS property, he is also going to bark at the neighbors who have allowed their lights to illuminate any zone outside of their own fence.Because, it's HIS property, HIS zone, HIS turf, and as my dog is a resounding and very male 'he', it is also HIS castle.

So, just as the blankets were warming up again, and the warmth was pulling me into sweet slumber, he barked-- loud, and irritatingly consistent. The only solution was to bring him back in again. So I got up, let him in, and found that with all the going up and down I had been doing, my nose was decidedly stuffed. It needed blowing. So I headed to the bathroom, and found myself staring at a sight one hopes not to see. (Especially if one is blurry-eyed, because it takes a while to decide if you are really seeing it or not-- which means you are staring at it for an even LONGER period of time.)

A black widow-- casually maneuvering its way down the door. GRRRRR. I grew up in a place that had a ton of these 'friendly ladies' in the shed, the garage, and of course the proverbial wood pile. But I didn't want to face it that early in the morning. I didn't have a handy shoe ready. But it was in MY house, MY territory, and I definitely didn't want her to be a guest in MY castle. (I may not be male, but right then I could totally sympathize with Captian's perspective.)

I looked around, and found a nice paperback book (much better to use than hardcovers), and positioned myself, took a breath of determination, and WHACKED that lady to doom.

I gave a little shriek, not because of any remorse over her murder, but because she had ungraciously smeared on the cover of the library book I had used. Thank goodness I had already read that one-- and I won't mention the title, just in case you someday want to check it out ;) Don't worry too much though, I wiped the cover down. I then gave the remains of that lady a quick flush to the ocean.

So note to self: when the dog is barking, it could be a signal to me that something is going on that I should be aware of. Or that the neighbors are up, and he thinks I should be up too to help protect his turf.

I'll think about it more later-- after I wake up again.

The Living Room

The Living Room: It's a fort-making-room, a war-zone, a spy training center, a pillow-fight room, a fairy-dusted forest, and a place to curl up for a good read. It's a place to strum a guitar, a place to make up new songs on the piano, and play some old favorites. It's the room where the cat and the dog love to remind you why they are family, and not just pets. It's the room where chips and sandwhiches got snuck in, and the juice got spilled. It's the room where 'after school' is synonymous with 'piles of backpacks and sweaters everywhere'. It's the place where you probably took your first steps, bumped your nogin on the coffee table, and later advanced to jumping on the sofa-- and now your kids have done it too. It's the room where all the best lessons were taught: how to share, how to read, and how to give hugs of 'hello' and 'good-bye'. It's the room where for the first time you heard the words, 'In the beginning...', 'And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree...', or other words from holy texts. It's the room you practiced your oral reports, and watched a hundred movies. It's a room for swapping stories and hanging out. It's a room for dressing up in your finest to greet guests, or chilling back in your pj's alone. It's the room where friends know they can put their feet up, and sit down for a good chat. It's the place visitors get to know you, to get a glimpse of who you are--

*Life* happens in a good living room. Sit down, and watch the show....but be warned: in my house, participation is required ;)

Walk, Don't Run

A marathon runner I am not. I am about to venture into (again) the world of habitual walking, and I don't know if I'm excited (yay!), or feeling doomed (boooo). I live in a neighborhood where the masses seem to get their thrills from running. I mean: what IS the point? Feet pounding, moving at a pace too fast to see the ladybugs, and just fast enough to feel every aching bone. Fun? I think not.


Walking though, has its advantages. You can spot the ladybugs for one. You can watch the eagles fly, and note the new flowers that a neighbor has planted (and think about how you can incorporate some of that kind into your yard). You can visualize a make-over for every house you pass by (a secret hobby of mine), and the best part: you can find the peace that the outdoors hands out for free.


Of course I am writting this as there is snowdust outside, and the chances of an actual 'outdoor' walking regime is slim. I will, instead, be walking the indoor track at the local city center. Instead of breezes full of sweet fall air, it will be.... something else.


But if I also exercise my imagination.... I'll be walking in a forest glade, with butterflies and flowers all around me.