The Paws that Refreshes

I feel like I’ve been going into withdrawal since I have not yet mastered the art of functioning 24 hours a day, without a modicum of sleep, even if that modicum is chock full of work dreams.  Hence, no creative writing or blog for far too long for me.

Writing?  More writing than I know what to do with but I have to confess not the kind of writing I enjoy sharing with all of you.  Business writing, doncha know.  Dry as dirt financial data, projections.  The stuff nightmares are made of, especially for the mathematically challenged. 

I feel like someone turned on the tap for my ‘business brain’ and now it’s flooded.

Running here, running there, I’m learning the Greater Barrie area far quicker and better than I ever thought possible.  I don’t think I even need to use my GPS so much anymore but I do bring it with me and program it, just so I can hear Jill say, “turn left in 1 miles”, or my favourite, “in 300 feet make a U-turn”.  She keeps me company.

I’m so far behind in watching ‘my shows’, I’m not even sure that the Survivors have reached the island yet.   

Don’t touch the espresso-whatever-possessed-me-coloured furniture or the speckled brown kitchen transaction counter top.  If I can’t see fingerpaw smudges in the dust, I won’t feel compelled to clean.

Pinky (Tuscadero), the baby, feels so neglected ‘cause I’m not taking sofa siestas much anymore and she misses the knee curl. So much so, that she jumps up on my naked thighs when I’m using the throne and then digs in her freshly honed (on the back of the sofa, no less) needles, trying to keep her balance.  She really doesn’t understand the screech of agony I emit but startled, adds to the carnage by leaping off, her back claws digging in deep for better leverage, trying for the gold medal in long distance leaping.  It’s a good thing I love her.

 

Carpe Diem - seize the day…seize the moment, but bloody hell, don’t let the hood latch on your car seize.  Not only does it cost about $200.00 to fix but it costs an entire afternoon of homework time to get it fixed, ‘cause… the young man with the purple Mohawk, tats inked over every square inch of visible derma,  has just informed me that he drained all the oil out of my car (I was getting it changed), BEFORE he popped the hood latch.  Go figure but you won’t go far, ‘cause there’s not a drop of oil left in the car.

Meals?  You mean home-made, real meals?  Fuhgeddaboudit.  Add the good ole’ Lipton chicken noodle soup standby (ready in 5 minutes), to the sandwich you made for lunch but were too busy to eat and call it supper. 

One good thing about not having time to prepare proper meals, is, at least, that grocery shopping only has to be done when you’re totally out of convenience food (unless you have demanding family members staging a mutiny for better living conditions).  Of course, it would help to have the carefully crafted grocery list in your hand when you’re actually at the store but it’s still gracing the top right-hand corner of the fridge, affixed with the cheerful, yellow, smiley face magnet. 

 

Stopped in the middle of the ketchup aisle, I screw up my face in an effort to remember what in the hell I have on the damn list.  A concerned citizen stops to ask if I’m okay or should she have the “girl” call the paramedics.  I move on.

Oh and what about housework?  Make sure you have multiple sets of utensils and dinnerware.  And at least a double sink.  You can always buy one of those plastic sinks people buy when they go camping.  It’ll hold the overflow from the dishwasher until someone remembers to turn it on and the clean stuff will magically waft its way to its rightful place in the kitchen cupboards and drawers… I have some land in Florida you might want to check out…

Turn that accidental oops, dropping a recently replenished mega size plastic ‘glass’ of ice water on the ceramic tile, into the ideal opportunity to wash the kitchen floor, scrubbing especially hard in the places you recently started sticking to. 

All in all, it’s been three weeks of total intensity, with more weeks to go than I care to count.  One of the saving graces and probably the reason that I’m still slightly sane, is my daily walk with Sofie, The Wonder Dog, who waits for me with quiet anticipation.  I throw out the magic word “walkies” and start making my way toward the front door.  Then, as if drawn by a dark force, I sit down at my computer to finish ‘just one more sentence’.  Audibly sighing, or as I refer to it, giving me the dog version of a Jewish guilt trip, she lies down by the front door and patiently waits until my “one more sentence” is done. 

About twenty minutes later I’m instantly forgiven when I finally make it to the front door and open it.  Sofie leaps to her feet, feathery tail helicoptering at high velocity, then bounces down the walkway to the street, waiting for me to catch up.  I take a few deep breaths of the fresh spring evening and laugh at Sofie as she grins at me and woofs, “Hurry up!”  One of life’s simple pleasures to treasure and truly the paws which refreshes my weary sole. 

      

                                     *© 2013      Sofie, The Wonder Dog

  © 2015 Phyllis Mahon aka Undercover Sandycove-r - “ALL IMAGES AS COPYRIGHTED BY PHYLLIS MAHON ARE PROTECTED AND REGISTERED … IT’S UNLAWFUL TO REPOST, COPY OR PUBLISH IMAGES FROM THIS WEBSITE.”