Max headed off in front of me for our walk this morning, unusual for him these days, with his bum elbow. He usually lags behind until we're up the hill and on the road; otherwise Belle jumps all over him, adding intensity to the challenge of the climb.
It's been two days since we took our regular route down the road, thanks to Hermine, and you'd think it was a crisp autumn morning as frisky as he was, rather than a post-tropical-storm steam bath. I guess he was suffering from cabin fever. Or doghouse fever, in his case.
It might have been the water calling him. Max loves water, and he knew the long walk to the corner would be rewarded with a cool drink, at the very least, after all this rain. He didn't have to wait until the corner, though. Rivulets cut through the caliche, streaming out of the woods from the hill toward the creek on the other side, sometimes traveling a bit along the road with us first. I could hear the creek, although I couldn't see it through the trees; I could imagine the typically dry stone bed we'd walked so many times before now filled with fast water, rushing down toward our pond and on to the lake.
The sky was a washed-out, diluted blue above us, but it was blue, at last. Hermine finally tired of us and moved on after one last downpour, heavy enough to wake me at 4:30 this morning. I was grateful that the only clouds left were wimpy, wispy white ones, barely discernible.
I'm feeling a little like those clouds and that sky these days... wimpy and washed out. Tom's feeling it, too. We've been sleeping a little later every morning, which doesn't make us feel any more rested, just more rushed. We feel tired. Blah. Overwhelmed.
Lately I feel like I'm wading in deep water - I see where I want to go, but it's such a struggle to get there. Or, you know how in a dream you try to run from something, and your legs are moving, you're trying your best, but you realize you haven't budged - you're frozen to the same spot? It's like that, too.
Despite the rivulets, the mud, the rushing creeks and overflowing ponds around us, mentally I've slipped into a drought, all creativity dried up and blown away, and I'm not sure why. I wonder what kind of rain I need to 'green' me up again? Time would help... big chunks of time before the day has worn me thin would be the best, but I know those are scarce, and I've never really had them, so what's different now?
I thought about it as I walked down the road to the house, but couldn't come up with an answer. Just a lot of analogies. Not the same as creativity.
Belle and I walked down to the big pond for our daily photo session (Max usually just wanders back to the porch to wait for breakfast.) The breach had been patched with dirt and rocks, and the only flow came from a metal culvert. A big pile of suds still floated in our pond where the discharge slowed, and nearby, a couple of cans and plastic water bottles . Very disturbing. Reminded me of the old pollution commercials of the '60's.
But another dragonfly posed for me and a huge, beautiful yellow butterfly flew past; I wished it would stop and rest somewhere so I could snap its photo, too, but I was grateful for the sight of it, anyway, and for the paparazzi-loving dragonfly.
Today was Pop's birthday, Tom's dad. He turned 81. I didn't talk to him today - a neighbor called and before I knew it an hour and a half had gone by and it was too late, by then. But Tom called him a couple of days ago and I spoke to him, then. Does that count? I'm not sure. It doesn't feel like it.
He told us he's borderline stage 4 kidney failure and will be starting dialysis soon. I don't like hearing that, of course, and it makes me realize it's been almost a year since we've seen him and Tom's mom. That's way too long. How do we let Time sneak by us like that? It's time to plan a trip to Florida.
So that was my Thursday. How was yours?
To discover what an amazing man Pop is, read The Leader of the Pack.
Here he is in Gruene this past November with the newest Mr. and Mrs. Tom Shallue (our nephew) and Mom... he loves having a pretty woman sit on his lap, that sly fox... and a generational photo with two sons (Kenny, #1,and Tom, #3) and grandson, Matthew.
