The Three Witches looked beautiful yesterday morning on my way back from dropping Lisa at work.
Instead of foretelling a brief but memorable life of a short and bloody reign, commemorated by “The Scottish Play” (love Black Adder)
they instead foretold a future of backache and Aleve after a day of vacuuming, mopping and moving and wiping down furniture.
I was so tired when it was all said and done that I fell asleep at my newly reconfigured hour of 7 pm, which would have been my normal 8 pm.
No matter, I obviously needed the extra hour of rest.
However, it seems that no one sent the critters the memo concerning yesterday’s time switch. This morning, while I was still visiting with Morpheus, Jeter started his usual “I have to pee,” whimpering at the same time he always does, only now it was an hour earlier my time. 1 am.
But Jeter is my old guy, so he get’s a pass.
The grumpy old bastard, who can barely see or hear, puts up with me just enough to let me shave parts of his face and ass, but won’t let me touch anywhere else.
And when you get to a certain age, when you gotta pee, you gotta pee.
Claire and Honey, who rested so peacefully by “the girls” along the driveway, where I spotted them yesterday morning through the boughs of Jack The Spruce,
started to bang on the side gate an hour earlier this morning. Regular time by their natural clock. So, even if I were to ignore Jeter, I couldn’t let the neighbors listen to the sheet metal cacophony.
The only one who was happy to otherwise let me sleep in was Blue, but I think she was exhausted by yesterday’s marathon of avoiding the vacuum cleaner. She always waits until she hears her can of food being opened three floors below, before she slides out of bed.
Here she is, traumatized like Charles Schultz’s Linus, yesterday evening, seeking comfort in her favorite blanket.
But it was worth losing that extra hour of sleep – this one time – just so I could look up in the eastern night sky as I headed out to feed the mules and see this waning moon.
Lemonade from lemons. A little night magic.
When you live on Mars, and remain disoriented by the ridiculous time shift imposed by the ridiculous powers that be, you tend to forget what life was like back on earth, and yesterday, while I struggled to complete the Herculean tasks of cleaning the house, I forgot that it was Guy Fawkes Day.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guy_Fawkes
And as a memorable Catholic conspirator, he did get a cool poem,
https://genius.com/English-folk-verse-the-fifth-of-november-guy-fawkes-night-poem-annotated.
Had I remembered, I may have watched V for Vendetta, which seems strangely relevant in today’s world.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/V_for_Vendetta_(film)
I also forgot that yesterday was the NYC Marathon. In years past, Lisa would have remembered, if she were not working, and we would have left it playing on the television as background until the lead runners hit Central Park, when we would have stopped to watch who ran away with the laurels. Then we would have revisited the various memories of her four trips around the city that never sleeps. Back in the last century. Those were fun times. They helped to forge the character Gina.
That one in the center commemorates my only athletic tie to the Big Apple, and the Golden Gloves.
You write what you know.
But again, memories of our times as gods on Olympus were forgotten. I was distracted from such mythic reveries by trying to figure out how to change the bottle on my Swiffer Jet.
I was also still dazed and confused by the time shift.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Well, today is another Monday.
Time to push that large stone back up the hill.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sisyphus
You fine, five readers, shake off your NFL cobwebs.
Have that second cuppa and go forth.
Monday is just one wakeup away from a more pleasant Tuesday.
We can do this.
But before I do, I need to go see a kitty about a cuddle, and do my rounds.
No matter what the world has in store for us, let us make today a great one.
