On Waking In The Night To The Howling Wind

You probably won’t be surprised to hear I’m up again well before the crack of dawn. It’s technically still night for most.

I mean, I was zonked out by 8:30 last night, so 3ish am isn’t horribly little sleep.

May have just been the howling wind that woke me, and not Irish with her cold nose (as I suspect). Windy out all day yesterday, and most of the night, as this front came up from Texas over the Great Lakes and tossed some snow at us.

resting pose

resting pose

I think the howling unnerved Miss Ish, she did look a little suspicious in her “resting” pose. Not sleeping mind, but resting her head on her paws, waiting. She was very cuddly last night as well. I mean, the fluffy bastard is a champion cuddler, but last eve she had an edgy look.

Or, she just has ants in her pants. Not been much good for anything the last few days. Little difficult to walk her when I can’t. Well, course I’m exaggerating Mom, but still. Suppose though Miss Ish wouldn’t care, as she could just drag me behind her like she normally does on our “walks“.

So, yes, my 48-year-old body has been having some WTF moments the last couple months. As I heave, and haul, lift and climb, and all kinds of out of character physical activity, and every day a new and exciting ache appears. But only aches. And, at some point, they wane, and another takes its place. And so forth.

I’m rambling, I know.

I like to ramble. But I’m thinking Mom, was it Tim last night? Was that what put her on edge? I wonder. I heard something, just before I went to sleep. But the advantages of having a dog are that they keep watch, so I just drifted off to sleep.

I was thinking of him a lot yesterday. Thinking about my memories of him. Who he was, and how honestly I’ve portrayed him. Maybe at times, I’ve been harsh?

Yesterday before work, I was reminded of Tim that last summer. With his pain machine at his side, brush in hand, painting the deck railings their traditional white. He wouldn’t let me do it, cause I wasn’t doing it right, apparently. It was like he HAD to do it.

He could have laid back in our new zero-gravity chairs, and soaked in the sunshine. Not Tim. No, he had to be busy; pain or no. Cancer or not, he just charged ahead. It was not unusual to see him at the beach, rake in hand, tidying up the lake shore. Like some zen ritual; and I just let him. I would only be reminding him he was sick, so I let him be.

If he fell dead at the beach, what a way to go, eh?

Being honest to Tim’s memory is a tough balancing act. At once, I say I would have left the lying bastard if not for his cancer; but would I of? I did love him. More so, and differently so, that last year. Our relationship changed.

Mom, or, maybe I’m just up to wrestle with some old demons?

Anywho, life is busy, and I’m happy. Maybe that’s why our unconscious mind chooses these seemingly random times to push us to work shite out? Maybe. But this is going to be another long day, er, longer now I suppose.

Love,
PaulaB

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