Time is a thief
he rests on his perch
flying unheralded only to search
for people like us who think we're not old
a skeletal finger so bony and cold
taking years from our lives with a sinister stroke
stealing our joy and robbing our hope
turning our laughter and love into pain
then along comes a puppy to renew us again
Mornings have evolved into a now familiar ritual and any slight variance can cause major consequences, sometimes lasting all day. In other words, if something doesn't go right in the morning, the rest of the day is probably going to be screwed up.
First awareness comes around 4am when Taz jumps on me and starts pushing and pawing. If I try to ignore him, he'll lick my face, which always works to finish waking me up. I scratch his belly for a few minutes, crawl out of bed, scratch my belly, switch on the light and get dressed.
After stumbling into the kitchen, I get some fresh coffee brewing while Taz waits impatiently at the back door. After the coffee's started, I'll grab a coat if it's cold, a raincoat if it's raining, and go out into the backyard with Taz for our morning pee. I let him choose the spot; usually out past the Japanese Maple tree in the middle of the yard, or if he really has to go, he beelines for the closer grass right at the end of the deck.
When we first started this routine I used to wait for him to finish and then go inside to go to the bathroom myself, but then I realized; What the heck! It's dark out here, the neighbors can't see into our back yard even if it's light out, and I really have to go! So, we started the ritual of the morning pee.
I noticed some time ago that when Taz is through, he always scratches the grass with his paws, sending grass and leaves flying, as if to celebrate a job well done! Unfortunately, the one time I tried it, I not only got a funny look from Taz, but my slipper flew off and I had to hop one-legged across the wet grass to retrieve it. (Not easy at my age!)
Once our morning pee is over, it's time to start a fire in the fireplace. Taz usually waits by the front door while I get some logs and kindling from the carport, and then while I light the fire he goes in to the front bedroom and wakes Chewy up. Chewy used to resist this rude awakening, but like me, he finally decided he might as well not fight it, so he grumpily gets up and follows Taz out into the living room. About the time the fire is crackling and popping they're both lined up in the kitchen waiting for their morning bowl of milk.
How this got started, I'm not really sure. Chewy loves milk, and even though I don't think Taz likes it that much, he has to have whatever Chewy gets. After a little milk and a snack of dog food, (Chewy has special vet- prescribed, expensive dog food that he hates, but Taz, of course, steals it and gobbles it up,) the two of them go to the back door so I can let them out for their morning pee. Sometimes I think Chewy's bladder is the size of a basketball while Taz has one about the size of a BB!
Chewy is 90% blind so he goes out and down the ramp we built for him, using memory and his sense of smell, but I think Taz helps by leading the way. If it's raining I have to go out and bring Chewy in sometimes, because the rain washes away the scent and he gets lost. If they're wet when they come in, I dry them with a bath towel and breath a sigh of relief. That part of the morning ritual over, I can check the email and maybe do some writing, because both dogs have gone back to bed!
Later, when I wake Carol up with a “It's 5:30 Hon!” Taz is right there again, to make sure she gets up OK. They usually play a “growling at each other” game that ends up with Carol chasing Taz into the living room. Chewy keeps on sleeping, and I eat some breakfast.
The morning ritual is over.
I ran across this article on the Internet the other day, and checked it out to make sure it wasn't fiction. Carol and I both were moved by it.
The loneliest mystery of the deep
For the last 12 years, a single solitary whale whose vocalizations match no known living species has been tracked across the Northeast Pacific. Its wanderings match no known migratory patterns of any living whale species. Its vocalizations have also subtly deepened over the years, indicating that the whale is maturing and aging. And, during the entire 12 year span that it has been tracked, it has been calling out for contact from others of its own kind.
It has received no answer. Nor will it ever.
Whatever the identity of this strange unidentified alien whale, it is, for now, the very definition of poetic, existential loneliness, in both time and space. The whale is somewhere wandering the Northeast Pacific, right now, in a rudderless, aimless track. And right now the lonely beast could be calling out for others of its kind, and finding none, for over 12 years and counting.
This story seems to be true, in fact there are many entries on Google about this lonely whale and some of the theories about it. I was going to write a short story about it but decided to attempt a poem instead.
Hear My Song
I sing for my mother who taught me this song
I sing for my brothers, all of them gone
Once we were many, now I'm alone
Searching in vain for an answering tone
As I grow older I fear no more
Orcas or Squid, harpoons or shore
I sing to the depths and try to cope
Living alone with little hope
It's been pretty quiet here after the big wind storm, except for the occasional sound of neighborhood chainsaws cleaning up fallen trees and limbs. It's also been unusually chilly, in the 30s at night and barely getting up into the mid 40s in the daytime. Good weather to stay inside and be lazy.
Carol had a couple of busy ambulance days last weekend but for the most part shes been able to relax a bit also.
We just spent over 30 hours realizing how much we depend on electricity these days. The wind knocked down trees and power lines all over the place. At one time over 4,000 people in this area were without power.
