At Least They're Committed

I weave my fingers together, pressing both palms out in an attempt to crack my knuckles, that is, if they would actually crack.

Still, it’s a good stretch. Let’s do this . . .

How long since I’ve blogged? Don’t know; don’t care.

I think I’ve been to the mountain home three times between writings with either no time or/nor inspiration.

That’s not true. I get fleeting moments of inspiration, but they always come at the worst of times — like when we’re shopping for a footstool or celebrating the weather with the tipsy old-timers in Grand Lake.

“These people are fascinating!” I’ve thought the time. (I do admit I might have been slightly tipsy myself, but nowhere near their level.) Thankfully, I kept that thought to myself. They are exquisite and delightful, even when plastered, but I really don’t have the energy, nor do I feel I have the skillset to tell anyone’s story anymore.

A decent snow here today, starting last night, actually. The warm days leading up to it allowed the ground to absorb most of the moisture before it accumulated. At least I hope so. We probably have 4 inches on the ground, but who knows what it might have been had it not melted upon impact.

I love rain. Snow? Only because it’s beautiful and necessary. Skiers? I still don’t get it, red faces, weepy eyes, runny noses and they clutter 40th in my attempts to get here, and back. I could be perfectly happy seeing snow fall, but never accumulate. Feed the earth, Lord, pretty please!

Our snowplow-and-tree expert gave me a warning upon his arrival yesterday that some of our spruce trees looked stressed. They need water in the winter when it hasn’t been snowing much. Of course! Damn my eyes! I panicked!

I hauled out coolers full of water, dumping at the bases of the trees in need, then bolted into town to buy a hose and nozzle. Oddly, when I pulled back into the garage (which I had left open in my rush), there was a long hose sitting right next to where the Rubicon had been parked. Was it always there, and did I rush right past it in my panic? Or did T.M. stop back by to make sure we were equipped? When he originally came, he said he had an extra if I needed one.

Good people around here.

Max and I intentionally headed to the mountains when I knew it was going to finally snow. He seems less impressed, sadly. But I am greatly impressed all on my own! (D is in Arizona on a golf/training camp/boys getaway.)

While D was preparing to socialize with his high school friends, I set myself up to stay inside all of today — gathering wood early on, building, rebuilding and again reigniting the fire in the fireplace, reading the third Thursday Murder Club, doing some rosary beadwork, and watching a monster movie starring Kurt Russell. I also capped the spigots, set up solar lights and did some major cleaning. Ah. This is the good life. Too cold to sauna. But I really should take a shower tonight. Heh. I don’t think so.

It would seem our neighbors stayed home in their cities, no lights on in their windows, likely because this is not as new and exciting for them. For me, I hope it never gets old. So dark here, but I’m not feeling isolated.

Norther Winslow (elk) is diligently keeping watch from his mount on the high beam of the A-line ceiling. Next to him is a new arrival, Colorado (deer), who was from my Dad’s first hunt here in 1971 and was the reason he decided we needed to relocate from Michigan. I didn’t understand it at the time. I do now!

Socrates (boar, Bill & Ted pronunciation) and Dear (deer) are still biding their time in the closet until we can get them on the beams where they can look out at the creek and the mountain behind it.

I have an arsenal here, of course, my Daddy didn’t raise any fools. (I know that’s not how the saying goes, but ‘my Daddy didn’t raise no fools’ would indicate that my siblings and I were all fools, and we certainly are not).

And perhaps my greatest line of defense is the magnificent Nadja and Lazlow, who flank my bed — calico boars that Dad got at some point in Texas.

I toss a tad more popcorn down to Max. I promised him I would do so if he just didn’t skulk off to bed early. It’s only 8:30 p.m.! Wussy old man!

The bedroom boars are my sentries. The sentinels I longed for and occasionally benefitted from since my earliest days.

When I was a child, Doberman pinchers were the most majestic and formidable dogs ever! I pictured my 80-pound self sitting in a throne of sorts, flanked by one 70-pound, sleek, black-and-tan protector on each side.

That never happened, of course.

Skip ahead 30 years, having been a long-time volunteer at a puppy rescue, I found myself sitting in a lawnchair on the back porch at Fernwood, scratching the domes of Raul (pit-husky mix) to my left and Shadow (German Shepherd-greyhound) on the right.

“This is it!” I realized, and despite all the shit that was going on in my world and the world at large, I basked in that moment. Young Tripping Raul was absolutely thrilled, hopeful, and appreciative at that very moment. I will always treasure it.

Raul and Shadow have passed over the Rainbow Bridge, and I am sure they are in close contact with Dad, who pledged to be the gatekeeper and director of human/pet reunions.

Not to fear up here, I am not at a loss for guardianship. That’s where the two calico boars come in. My throne is my bed, with Max settled at the end and Nadja and Lazlow (see What We Do in the Shadows) standing watch on either side. For all eternity, as long as I’m at the mountain home, I will have these magnificent, creepy-ass, intimidating boars watching over me.

Sigh. Life is lovely, isn’t it? (Girlish giggle goes here.)

One more glorious day here. Then I go back to reality — helping aging parents and spending bunches of time with my beautiful children and grandchildren. Important stuff! But for now, this cozy nook can boar me, and I’ll never be happier.