Running In Place

I am getting reaquainted with the fine art of porch sitting. Refamiliarizing myself with the feel of the Adirondack rocking chair, the sound of the windchimes, the birds at the feeder (who are, in turn, getting used to me - the voyeur - intently watching their business). The chickadees are here, the cowbirds, woodpeckers, red winged black birds, and a few blue jays (that will soon turn into many many blue jays). I love to listen to their songs of romance and watch their interpretive dances. They scatter easily now, my slightest move sends them away - but soon they won’t pay me any notice. I’ll become familiar, like the furniture I sit on. A piece of furniture with a laptop. And a beer. The most anxiously awaited arrival, the hummingbirds, will be here in not too long. But that’s a whole ‘nother post.

So here we are, two dogs and myself - lounging, watching birds, smelling spring even though there’s no buds on the trees. Knowing it’s here even though it’ll go below the freezing mark again tonight, and it’s not unimaginable that we would have another snowfall - or even snowstorm. Junior (my large, unwieldy cat) joins us periodically. He sits on the windowsill behind my right shoulder and, through the screen, has a spot-on look-but-don’t-touch view of the birds. This is only temporarily interesting to a 16 lb. cat who gets lifted up onto the cabinet where his food bowl is by my son. I do not condone this coddling, especially when I am busy in the bathroom with some beautification process (problem) and Junior - a mere few feet south of his food - hollers at me in an insistent and decidedly entitled tone, to hoist him to his meal. I don’t think his natural prey have much to worry about, unless they are inclined to seek him out during one of his frequent naps, pry his mouth open, and wedge themselves between his teeth. Otherwise, there’s not much danger of being eaten. Still, since Junior might actually get motivated enough to walk the hundred or so feet to the road, a cat behind bars he will remain.

Today we got a new roof put on the cabin. The dogs were alternately ferocious and terrified, depending on the amount of noise that was being made, poor sad guinea pig was too nervous to eat his lettuce, Junior was unconcerned. At the risk of sounding lascivious, watching 5 shirtless (younger than me) guys in low slung Levis doing manly things like lifting and tearing and hammering and hauling, was a great way to spend the day. Much like with the birds at the feeder, I tried to observe surrepticiously - keeping in mind my own interpretation of the Prime Directive. No binoculars, no flash photography, minimal cat calls.

It was recently suggested to me that I might be experiencing a mid-life crisis. Crisis? Or, awakening. Swim lessons, groovy new bike, new-old job (back at Hospice - more on that later), topless guys in my yard.

It must be spring.