In the Trenches

So, I went to bed around 5:00 am, then woke up around 8:30. Three and a half hours sleep is not my usual quota after having been up for 23 hours, but, hey! it is better than none at all.
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I stumbled downstairs to find grandson had risen sometime in the hours I had zonked out, fixed himself some waffles (he likes a little waffle with his maple syrup, if you catch my drift), then fallen back to sleep in front of the television. Guess he had been watching one of the movies daughter rented last night.
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Cats were standing at the kitchen door leading to the back room, their paws and noses pressed against the glass, meowing for breakfast and some attention, which I gave them. I propped open the outside screen door so they could wander out on their own.
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Beautiful morning; cool (60 F), sunny, full of birdsong and waking neighborhood noises. The breeze during the night seems to have dried the rain off the grass and other plants, so I guess grandson and I will tackle that jungle I refer to as the backyard this afternoon.
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All seems right with the world this morning, always a good sign upon rising. That, plus the fact that I was given another day to live - my favorite good sign! Now, if I just had some fresh strawberries and cream...ah, life is good. This morning, my brain needs the jolt of caffeine that coffee gives me. I will indulge in a cup or maybe two, before switching to tea later in the day. So, on with the rest of my life, one morning, one day at a time.
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It was my intention to blog about what I want to be when I grow up. As I frequently do, I googled the phrase "when I grow up," hoping to find an appropriate image for that title. What I found, straight out of the gate, was Allison, and her blog about surviving hard times. (I'm a firm believer in the notion, 'the-hand-of-God'...or fate, or synchronicity...whatever other name it might go by when, unbidden, you find what you need, though it might not be what you wanted.)
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I needed, evidently more deeply than I realized, reassurance that things will work out for the best, no matter what. What better acknowledgement and support of that notion than the posters His Majesty's government posted during WWII, to encourage his people during one of the darker periods of English history.
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My life is not how I want it to be right now, and it might not be so for a bit longer than I hope, but I will take my cue from the Brits who triumphed over the darkness that fell upon them in the 1930s and 1940s, and during the recovery - and "keep calm and carry on."
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(c) 2009 Martha McLemore

Sleepless

I've been having difficulty sleeping lately. Tonight (early morning, actually) is another of those sleepless times. Stress is interfering with my sleep cycle, which interferes with everything else in my life. I tend to withdraw from the things I normally do, to disengage for awhile. I still function fairly well in my work and at home, but I am not fully participating. I am aware of the disconnect, but not able to stop it. Don't know what this means, this disconnection from reality, from myself and everyone else. I think it might be normal, for me anyway, because it happens fairly regularly.
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There is a gorgeous full moon out tonight, bright as daylight almost. I love nights like this, in fact - cool, breezy, good sleeping weather. If I could sleep. Wish I could sleep.

Damn, why can't I sleep?
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Daughter and grandson are sawing logs. I can hear them all the way downstairs here in the back part of the house, where the computer is located. The cats are trying to sleep, but my tapping the keys and the lamp light keeps waking them. They move to a darker corner of the room and bed down again. Lucky little furballs.
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Outside, I hear some small animal rustling through the brush near the side gate. Probably a mouse, or chipmunk. Not a big enough noise to be anything much larger. (Could be Sowa's spider, of course...jeeze, Martha, don't go down that road again!)
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The house talks to me when it's quiet out and I'm sleepless. The battery-operated wall clock at the other end of the room ticks each passing second, reminding me that I'm awake when everything else inside is asleep. Its ticking matches the rhythm of my heartbeat, of which I am extraordinarily aware right now.
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The refrigerator hums, the boiler gurgles, the toilet tank drips every ten or so heartbeats...oops, it skipped a beat...the tank, not my heart. One of the cats yawned, again. The wind whistles down the chimney in a melancholy sigh. When I pause my typing to compose my thoughts, I absent-mindedly brush my fingertips across the keys, ever so lightly, yet it sounds like I'm dragging a gunny full of corn husks along the floor. The stairs creak as the house settles some more in the cool night air.
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I'm worried. I cannot find another part-time job to supplement my income. My daughter lost her job this week and I don't know how I am going to support three people on income that didn't completely cover the expenses of one. I worry about losing my home, then feel guilty because of all those families who have lost theirs already, and those who have been homeless for several years. I worry about being unable to feed my family, then remember there are babies who went to bed tonight with nothing to eat all day, and the day before that, and likely tomorrow, too.
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The clock ticks on, oblivious to my concerns. Or, maybe, it is trying to reassure me that this, too, shall pass, just like the seconds it marks with each tick. Sleep, sleep, sleep, it ticks...sleep, sleep, sleep.
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With each heartbeat, each drip, each tick, I feel myself reconnecting to the rest of the world. Back to the land of the living, the snoring, the breathing. Reconnecting to myself, my intelligence and memories and reasoning skills.
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I have survived worse than the things that won't let me sleep tonight, the things that have disturbed my sleep for weeks now, the things that I sought refuge from by disconnecting. I'll figure out solutions for all these worries. We'll get through this, just as we have gotten through other tough times.
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Goodnight, beautiful moon. Goodnight, rustling noise out by the gate. Goodnight, spring peepers. Goodnight, cats and goodnight, house. I'm going to bed.
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Perchance to sleep.
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(c) 2009 Martha McLemore

For AWB, as Promised

Susan of Phantsythat blog, posted this image, which sent my shoulders into spasms when I saw it. The artist is Michael Sowa.

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I am such a coward when it comes to spiders...and snakes, but we won't go there just now.

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Last fall, as the weather grew cooler and the crickets started coming indoors, large wolf spiders followed their food source into my home. Now, the crickets stay in the basement, but the wolf spiders like to explore.

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One explored its way into my bedroom, up the leg of my bed and under the covers. While it wasn't as large as the one AWB (A Write Blog) encountered in the shower in France when he was a lad, it was enough to make me scream at the top of my lungs and run downstairs.

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That night The Crow was The Chicken.

Gem of the Day: 28 April

Jade

As usual, I set off on a search for one thing, and find at least one other that distracts me. So it was this morning. I went looking for the definition of 'gollywampus' (also spelled 'galliwampus', I discovered), a word my father used to name any large, long-legged, flying insect for which he had no name. Nevermind that all the insects he referred to as gollywampuses (gollywampi?) were as different one from another as a rose is from any other flower in the universe, if it fit the general description just given, that's what it was.

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I had one such creature in my house over the weekend. It clung to the sheer curtains in the downstairs powder room for almost twenty-four hours before disappearing. We three humans gave it the space it needed, being careful not to disturb the curtains or dislodge the bug.

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Today's gem is actually three-in-one: a Wampus site, a bug site and a monsters blog. I like the first because it pleases my sense of whimsy and silliness; the second because I like to know the names of things, especially creatures that come indoors uninvited; and the last because of my lifelong interest in the unexplainable, the laughable and the things that go bump in the night - and in my imagination. Pardon me while I quit shivering at the thought of those bumpy things under my bed, behind the dresser and lurking in the shadows at the corners of my eyes. YIKES!! I just scared myself!

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Anyway, these are the sparklies I found today. Hope you enjoy the goosebumps and the giggles.

(c) 2009 Martha McLemore

Sunday Morning

Photo by Martha McLemore, 2009

Day broke earlier for me than I wanted this morning, but I'm glad now that it did. I'm the only one up in the house at this hour, except for the two remaining cats (one died this past week - hit by car) and I'm enjoying this patch of time all to myself.

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We had an unseasonably warm (HOT!) day yesterday that was still smothering us last night when I finally dragged myself to bed. Usually, it is too cool around here to have the windows up at night until mid-May, but both windows in my room were open and the bed was stripped down to just sheets. Felt like July, outside and in, all night.

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One advantage to being up this early is that most of the sounds coming through the back door, near where I have my computer, are sounds of nature, very little of humankind. It is too early for the competing carillons in the nearby arboretum and the church up the opposite block to be playing. There is hardly any auto traffic in the street, and the little boy who lives two houses down (and squeals his words at an ear-piercing decibel level) hasn't gotten up yet.

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Breakfast aromas of bacon, coffee and either pancakes or waffles, perhaps french toast, come wafting in on the light breeze that popped up suddenly, then died just as quickly. The stomach-teasing aromas linger behind, stirring the Gastric Beast from its slumber.

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"Feed me," it rumbles. "Feed me now!"

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Later, dude. I'm busy right now.

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"Fee-e-e-e-d me-e-e-e-e, feeeeeed meeeeeeeee," it rumbles in decreasing tones. The Beast goes to its time out corner and fumes, its nose sniffing up the last of the breakfast odors. Rumbly, rumbly, rumble. feeeeed meeeeee, feeeeeed. meeeeeeee.

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Instead, I feed the cats, love on them as much as they will allow, then let them out for their morning constitutional. One of these Sundays, I think I'll follow them on their jaunts, just to see what me boy-os get up to outside.

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There were lots of birds already chirping when I awoke at first light this morning. Now the second shift has arrived, and the day workers, each arrival throwing his and her song into the mix. Such splendiferous singing, a joy for the ears! Even the cats sit still and listen, though for different reasons, I'm sure.

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Enter, stage left, from the arboretum, a yearling crow. He takes his position in the red oak behind the carport and, at the unseen conductor's prompt, lets loose with a ragged "Ca-a-w!"

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Cats' heads jerk in Crow's direction, their ears all atwitch, like rotating radar antennas, seeking out the deep space pings of distant stars.

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The smaller, more melodious birds pick up the next note in their 'Ode to Daybreak' concerto without missing a chirp. Several bars along, and Crow chimes in again.

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"Ca-a-a-wk!"

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The chorus resumes, punctuated at regular intervals with Crow's ever more raspy croaks. I am reminded of the Anvil Chorus from Verdi's Il Trovatore. Only, the chorus is in a never-ending loop of song and croak, song and croak. I am loving it, every note, the solitude, the fresh air, the wonder on the cats' faces as they look from one part of the chorus to the other - the lone crow atop the oak.

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I walk to the door to hear better, but my motion startles the cats, who leap up from their seats under the shrubs. This, in turn, startles the multi-bird chorus, who shut up instantly and fly off for safer yards and shrubs. Only the Lonely remains but he, too, stopped singing.

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Oh, shoot! Bumbling human has messed up things again! (Long, melancholy sigh escapes my lungs.)

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As I stand in the doorway, I notice that violets have sprung up and bloomed overnight. Violets! One of my favorite flowers! My back yard is almost covered in them, just like Mardy's yard.

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Ah, yes. Mardy. I am called Crow because of Mardy, a dear departed friend. But that's a story for another time.

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The Gastric Beast is roused by another sweet-smelling breeze, and this time will not be denied. Time to give it something to eat (raisin toast with cream cheese) before it begins to gnaw the walls of my stomach. I hate when that happens.

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But first, I will pick some violets.

(c) 2009 Martha McLemore

WOW!

Utah Savage (Peggy) has started up with photography again and you just have to go see this. It is beautiful, a painting taken with her camera!
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Brava, Peggy, brava!

Gem of the Day

Lovely sparklies.

One of the reasons I identify myself with crows is because we crows are attracted to sparklies, shiny things which catch our eyes, or tickle our funny-bones, or snag our hearts and minds in some way or the other. I've decided to post those things I take pleasure in that I think some of you might enjoy, too. Maybe you won't. That's another thing I like about crows, though. Not all sparklies are going to catch all crows' eyes, and it doesn't matter. Crows cache those things they like for later examination and enjoyment. So, like in a secret hollow in a sky-high tree trunk, I will occasionally cache my finds here in my blog. Enjoy, if you like - or completely ignore; as you wish.

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Today's gem is something I found on the Internet a couple of years ago while stumbling around after something else entirely. Michael Quinion loves words, the history and structure of them. Sometimes, the older and more obscure the word the more he likes it. My kind of crow.

(c) 2009 Martha McLemore