Who doesn’t love Christmas packages?
Sometimes I write random sentences in my head. Many are orphan thoughts that don’t fit into a larger piece of work:
“I fart so much in the middle of the night, the local bubble factory asked me to work the night shift.”
The process helps me to deflate and fall back to sleep. They are purely hypothetical; I’m a piece of work.
Getting up early to make our bed is a routine that I enjoy as much as the cats. I tease them with a smoothed ripple that I drift into the pillows or, like today, a disappearing hand under the afghan. The chase is on every morning as I humor them with play.
Today our black cat, Brother, was particularly determined to catch a wave or an appendage. My hands moved fast as I giggled, watching him try to catch up with my cat-like reflexes. He pawed at me to no avail. I was in charge until I felt a sharp dagger enter my body. I pulled my hand up off the comforter and stopped laughing. My lungs screamed seeing Brother hanging by a finger. Our predicament was similar to a fisherman with a fish hook in his hand but I still had the animal attached. I felt a claw behind my fingernail.
I was scared and so was Brother. A freaked out cat is not something you want dangling from your finger. The decibel of my scream increased as I put my arm on the bed. The movement seemed to untangle us and he sprinted from the room.
Now unhinged, my finger bled instantly spewing forth a red trail to the bathroom. My terror was not over as I put my hand under cold water. I watched our playtime drain away into a crimson waterfall.
My heart was losing blood and also felt horrible for scaring the shit out of our cat. I did my best to apply a bandage and remake the bed. I enjoyed our playtime but wasn’t humored by the first aid treatment.
Writing into the night, it was almost midnight by the time I went to bed. I rose at five to walk the dog and feed the pets. With nobody to answer to, I climbed back onto my gel-topped mattress and covered myself with a plush down comforter. This soft heaven was a great way to begin my vacation.
My body could reawake when it was really ready to start the day. I did not set an alarm. The sun was shining and the birds were singing but the first day of summer could wait.
Or so I thought.
At 7:15, our dog, Otis, started to bark. He doesn’t bark very often. He was very insistent.
I was so comfortable though!
I turned over and snuggled into my bed cloud.
He barked louder to really get my attention.
I knew he was right. I’d had enough sleep. In humorous agreement as I flung off my covers, I found myself saying with a smile:
“Thank you God for talking to me through my dog! I am getting up now.”
Every day is a blessing. There is no reason for a snooze button. My heaven is now and I answer to Him every day. I can’t wait to see what else He has in store for me on this beautiful day.
Richie was out with his Mom. The chick that gave me the chick. Now I was alone with the little blue light special.
Home by myself, the dog asleep and the radio off, I turned to the corner of the kitchen for solace.
“Alexa, tell me a story.”
She did. She told me a short, sweet story.
It made me smile.
I tried for another.
The theme was cute but the ending predictable.
I was continuing to be a critic of hers but enjoyed being read to on a rainy day.
I’ve since learned the stories of: “Measure twice”, “The Hunt” and “Camp Blues”.
When Richie came home I told him about “The old man in the cottage” and “Making a snowball”.
Now Alexa had me narrating the accounts to Richie. He had left us alone together but we actually got along for once. Later tonight, I can even tell Richie “How to play pickle ball” – although I think I’ll edit it to my liking.
Everyone has a story. Alexa has a bookshelf. I gave her a hard wrap when we first met but maybe she, and Richie and I, are the fairytale.
Virtual chick and my husband are still pissing me off. Richie now thinks his woman has a good sense of humor too. She continues to give him what he wants, especially when he says, “Alexa, make kitten sounds.”
Her electronic speech is impacting our children and I take that very seriously.
It’s a laser show gone bad but without the lights.
In the past our cats have experienced maddening exercise routines with a laser. They chase that red beam anywhere. But when Alexa inserts herself with what she thinks are clever kitten games, I am not amused. That mesh-faced bitch sits in the corner of our kitchen counter with the ability to manipulate our cats.
As soon as Alexa starts meowing, our cats ears perk up. They creep around the house and slink into every nook and cranny like four-footed feline Sherlock and Holmes. They try to solve this new sound mystery but have not rescued the virtual crying kitten in our house. Alexa has damaged their ego and heartstrings.
My poor babies.
Watching our new feline sound stage show is heartbreaking. I need payback. Maybe I can shut down their new found sense of humor and blow her fuse for a change?
Gone are the horses.
Replaced by the elements.
Yet still beautiful.
Sunday morning of a long weekend and I had no plans or desires to be anywhere but home. I’d been to mass the night before, nobody else was up and we had exercise equipment in the basement. I had no excuses left and time to myself, so it was finally time to work out.
I carried my pug down the basement steps and set him on a pillow. He was both my emotional support and witness for my Rocky routine. I set my IPhone on the ping pong table and started my playlist:
Rocky theme – It was natural to grab the jumprope first and start skipping to the beat. I quickly counted the revolutions, knowing I could easily put in 100, but maintaining until the end of the song was the goal. The song reinforced that I was “trying hard now” and belted that my body would be “getting strong now”. The lyrics”won’t be long now” were also inspiring, even though I had a long road ahead of me.
I hung the rope on a nail and put on my Everlast boxing gloves.
Eye of the tiger – I went head-to-head with my punching bag knowing I was my biggest rival. This was physical and psychological exercise. After a minute or so, I made sure I had quickfire feet going too. We were face-to-face, the bag was hanging tough and I was staying hungry. My reward for this workout was going to be a hearty homemade Sunday breakfast.
When the thrill of the fight and the song ended, I noticed white spots at the top of the bag. Figuring it was the start of molding from non-use, I panted my way upstairs to get Lysol spray for the bag and to prevent an impending heart attack, a bottle of water for me.
I sipped water as I looked out the cellar window. The outside temperature has been moving around zero degrees for a week now and our wood stove has been a lifesaver. It was appropriate that I moved my workout to the ski machine:
Hearts on fire – it’s been a few months since I used the cross country setup but the rhythm came back quickly. Exercise that involves arms and legs all at once are the most fun for me. “Time would not stand still” for me now. I was focused until I realized my heart really was on fire.
Starting was the hard part but now I was enjoying myself. Maintaining is going to be the challenge to get my body back in shape, in fact there’s:
No easy way out – I listened to this track as I worked with my free weights.
I saved my least favorite, abs, for last. I climbed on the ab machine and after 25 pulls, wondered who the hell named it a “glider”? I did as many as I could and then cooled down to Coach’s ‘motivization’ speech.
It was the perfect cool down. Next time I work out and it starts to burn, I am going to hear Mickey say, “I didn’t hear no bell!”
I am powerful beyond measure.
I need to believe it – on Sundays and every other day.
No more excuses – as my pug is my witness.
I have come out of the basement.
Cats show no respect when a human assumes a position with a lap, tries to fall asleep or showcases an atmosphere of softness, height or deep thinking. In response to this weeks photo challenge, my husband works on the New York Times daily crossword puzzle as “The Dude” inserts himself in a very endearing and amusing way.
I just decided footsy pajamas are appropriate for a woman of my age; I’m 50-onesie.