Teens have a way of getting into trouble.
It's when they go looking for it, begging for more than just mischief - that irks me.
Lets see... where do I begin? I caught one hot-wiring a neighbors truck. Found the traces of another one's drinking escapade (left a beer can inside our car). I recall another from the nearby group home stealing our outdoor light fixture. I could go on and on, but I won't.
My ex would disclose his misbehaving, as if being a bad egg was cool somehow. I thought I could teach him better (silly me). My sister and I, we wouldn't dream of such undertakings. It wasn't a fear of our parent's reprimands that kept our noses clean. No, it was a healthy dose of respect for other people. It's that simple. Which brings me to my latest tale.
Last night a posse of underage delinquents chose to stay out during the wee morning hours poking around the neighborhood. I tend to follow my nocturnal nature and was just going to bed. Laying there, in the dark, guess what I hear? Possibly someone outside our window, causing the dogs to stir. The sound of nearby footsteps creeping the parameters of our apparently vulnerable abode. Followed moments later , by a barely audible whispering, while the voices conspired over whatever evil deed they had lined up next on their agenda.
Next thing you know - the dogs bark, DH wakes up to peer his head out the bedroom window. What does he see? A group of five male and female accomplices gathered around my father's parked car!
So he runs to the front door, witness to no more than the said instigators hurriedly dispersing themselves across the block. The 'game' appeared over, players scattered across the neighborhood yards. Whatever dismal community disservice they were willing to partake - now over.
The grateful lot of us went to bed, hoping for peaceful sleep. My brain cataloged the nights events, holding a spot right next to the previous weeks encounter (Mr. Scary guy knocking on the door, dubage in hand, apparently speaking of said cig. underneath a thick layer of vocal canines).
I suppose it goes without saying - I wish to be spared of such visitors in the future.
Ka-boom!
It turns out, Speckles is afraid of thunder.Just yesterday, a storm cloud overtook a deceptively meek afternoon. I'd say it positioned itself right overhead, judging by the intensity of it. The clap of thunder left a threatened feeling. I shuddered from the startle, similar to the snap of a ruler against a desk. The reaction surprised myself. Usually I love stormy weather. Though my mother is deathly afraid of lightening, I've never been. But this time it was different.
Speckles, a dog whose ample size results in clumsy footwork and near chair tipping, had hidden herself beneath my desk. Bizarre, seeing she avoids being in my vicinity (grudging the way I steal her master's affections). Amelie was planted firmly at my side, too. It seems the storm spared none of our attention. We were, a captive audience of sort.
It was my rigid pose that bewildered me. I felt like a scared rabbit! When the power flicked off the dogs and I eyed each other nervously. Tense anticipation gripping us. We were a riot in retrospect. Ninnies!
The storm ended as quickly as it started. My nerves, however, remained jangled for a bit longer...
Even if the only 'Wiz' around here has more to do with puppy bladders than Oz, I'll likely be known as the'Cowardly Lion' from now on.
Little shop of horrors
Why is it whenever I go grocery shopping, I forget most of what I went to get in the first place? I mean, I write a list. However, being my recall is as bad as it is that I need to prepare one, I subsequently forget to take the darn thing with me!
I'm an inquisitive shopper. I read the labels, compare brands, checkout what's new. Being a visual person it takes me a while to absorb my surroundings. I've no problem standing there (NOT blocking aisles, I hate that) and take it all in. Anxiety driven and long term medication slows my thinking.
To say I'm indecisive would be only part of the whole truth. Saying so disregards the significance of my problems and how they come into play with those everyday dealings. It's easy to ignore the strain it is for people like me to do the most mundane things. After all, you take the same duties in stride.
Forgive me while I lump a sum of us together...
If the lot of our type are successful at facing our fears, I believe that on our part, I'd say it's only fair to let us revel in it. You might take little things like going out to the store for granted. For us it's an accomplishment of sorts just to do ordinary everyday things. Rest assured, I understand how hard it must be to relate to such situations.
Most of the time I realize what a chore I can be. If I had to pick a word to define myself, I'd probably end up settling for 'frustrating' (or spend forever making up my mind picking one). I know my company can be quite taxing. Therefore I refuse my right to be offended when people stop being incredibly tolerant of the fact.
So for those who have been victim...
It sucks knowing nobody enjoys these excursions. That I rob time and patience to those kind enough to take me anywhere. Yet please, just try to remember that equally in turn, it sucks being rushed around or resented for failing to meet expectations, as a result just as much. My past is full of being left out, or feeling that way. Theres just no need to revisit those pangs and relive them.
I'm an inquisitive shopper. I read the labels, compare brands, checkout what's new. Being a visual person it takes me a while to absorb my surroundings. I've no problem standing there (NOT blocking aisles, I hate that) and take it all in. Anxiety driven and long term medication slows my thinking.
To say I'm indecisive would be only part of the whole truth. Saying so disregards the significance of my problems and how they come into play with those everyday dealings. It's easy to ignore the strain it is for people like me to do the most mundane things. After all, you take the same duties in stride.
Forgive me while I lump a sum of us together...
If the lot of our type are successful at facing our fears, I believe that on our part, I'd say it's only fair to let us revel in it. You might take little things like going out to the store for granted. For us it's an accomplishment of sorts just to do ordinary everyday things. Rest assured, I understand how hard it must be to relate to such situations.
Most of the time I realize what a chore I can be. If I had to pick a word to define myself, I'd probably end up settling for 'frustrating' (or spend forever making up my mind picking one). I know my company can be quite taxing. Therefore I refuse my right to be offended when people stop being incredibly tolerant of the fact.
So for those who have been victim...
It sucks knowing nobody enjoys these excursions. That I rob time and patience to those kind enough to take me anywhere. Yet please, just try to remember that equally in turn, it sucks being rushed around or resented for failing to meet expectations, as a result just as much. My past is full of being left out, or feeling that way. Theres just no need to revisit those pangs and relive them.
One
I've recently learned of a special project amongst fellow bloggers. Becoming involved is a simple symbolic gesture that puts everything in perspective...
2,996 volunteer bloggers will join together for a tribute to the victims of 9/11. Each person will pay tribute to a single victim on September 11, 2006 honoring their lives. This is a chance to learn about and celebrate those who died. If you would like to help out and pledge to post a tribute on your own blog, please click the graphic to learn how you can participate.
2,996 volunteer bloggers will join together for a tribute to the victims of 9/11. Each person will pay tribute to a single victim on September 11, 2006 honoring their lives. This is a chance to learn about and celebrate those who died. If you would like to help out and pledge to post a tribute on your own blog, please click the graphic to learn how you can participate.
I surrender!
I raise my Kleenex as a white flag, grabbing a new tissue.
Yep... it's allergy season.
But it's far too hot to complain. I simply can't keep focus on more than the weather. The heat takes my mind off my nasal woes. It's been bastardly hot this season.
Lawns' are more scorched than green. A sunny garden left unattended, in a few hours resembles a cemetery plot. Drooping sad flowers and lifeless green limbs hang in the miserable drying sun. The mortality of our rosemary seedlings provide a perfect example of how unbearable these temperatures are.
Our place feels like a furnace. Slightly better than my sister's condo, which must feel like an easy bake oven. My parent's air conditioned kitchen is barely a sanctuary. The unit can't take on such magnitude. My mom can't sleep at night, much like everyone in the area. It's just too damned hot.
I'm praying for rain, not sure it if it would make much difference. At least our lawn would benefit. I haven't seen so much dead and dying water deprived grass in years.
...Just thinking about it makes me thirsty.
Yep... it's allergy season.
But it's far too hot to complain. I simply can't keep focus on more than the weather. The heat takes my mind off my nasal woes. It's been bastardly hot this season.
Lawns' are more scorched than green. A sunny garden left unattended, in a few hours resembles a cemetery plot. Drooping sad flowers and lifeless green limbs hang in the miserable drying sun. The mortality of our rosemary seedlings provide a perfect example of how unbearable these temperatures are.
Our place feels like a furnace. Slightly better than my sister's condo, which must feel like an easy bake oven. My parent's air conditioned kitchen is barely a sanctuary. The unit can't take on such magnitude. My mom can't sleep at night, much like everyone in the area. It's just too damned hot.
I'm praying for rain, not sure it if it would make much difference. At least our lawn would benefit. I haven't seen so much dead and dying water deprived grass in years.
...Just thinking about it makes me thirsty.
Head trip
Man, do I dream. I mean a lot.
Unfortunately, I've had more than my share of negative ones, even bad enough to cause a major depressive episode (isn't that nutty?). But generally, most of these nightly visual escapades are re-runs. I'm sure many other people share the collective of text book examples. These include: being chased or unprepared for tests, working (they often leave you fatigued before your day's even started), and the odd flying or supernatural one (I miss the magical powers I haven't possessed in ages).
Of coarse, then there are the dreams that set us apart. Unique to our own lives, at the mercy of our manipulative little brains. We conjure up the most peculiar things. A sense of humor seems a basic requirement for that lot.
I sometimes find myself watching, in the form of a movie. Dreams that have all the bells and whistles. Even proper titles, I kid you not.
There's the popular school theme. Those dreams make me wish I could escape the monotony of them, and take a well earned summer vacation. Dreams In which I usually can't remember when my classes start, never knowing what the assignments are, or where the class is located. Ultimately it ends in failure (about as literal as it gets). The clueless nature of which leads to the next catergory.
Consider those memory lapse pangs we all experience. Dreamy fragments of forgetfulness. When simple facts elude us, like phone numbers or locker combinations.
The most problematic dream state for me these days, are a different kind. I become the victim of urgency! I'm speaking of the most frequent type of them all...
The need to pee dream.
When you've got to go so bad and nobody will leave you alone. The event always finds you in a place where a clean bathroom can't be seen or found, which ironically is lucky.
Because if you found one...
You get the picture.
These days, each and every morning I wake with sudden reaction. Every thought I wake to is of the loo. The sudden jolt defies wit, and frankly that perturbs me... Why won't my brain just nudge me awake at the first inkling?
Why must I experience a long drawn out torture only to have to jump out of bed in the nick of time? Maybe our subconscious thinks its funny. A prank on the host and the senses. Whatever the reason - it boggles the very mind that starts such dribble (no pun intended) in the first place.
Unfortunately, I've had more than my share of negative ones, even bad enough to cause a major depressive episode (isn't that nutty?). But generally, most of these nightly visual escapades are re-runs. I'm sure many other people share the collective of text book examples. These include: being chased or unprepared for tests, working (they often leave you fatigued before your day's even started), and the odd flying or supernatural one (I miss the magical powers I haven't possessed in ages).
Of coarse, then there are the dreams that set us apart. Unique to our own lives, at the mercy of our manipulative little brains. We conjure up the most peculiar things. A sense of humor seems a basic requirement for that lot.
I sometimes find myself watching, in the form of a movie. Dreams that have all the bells and whistles. Even proper titles, I kid you not.
There's the popular school theme. Those dreams make me wish I could escape the monotony of them, and take a well earned summer vacation. Dreams In which I usually can't remember when my classes start, never knowing what the assignments are, or where the class is located. Ultimately it ends in failure (about as literal as it gets). The clueless nature of which leads to the next catergory.
Consider those memory lapse pangs we all experience. Dreamy fragments of forgetfulness. When simple facts elude us, like phone numbers or locker combinations.
The most problematic dream state for me these days, are a different kind. I become the victim of urgency! I'm speaking of the most frequent type of them all...
The need to pee dream.
When you've got to go so bad and nobody will leave you alone. The event always finds you in a place where a clean bathroom can't be seen or found, which ironically is lucky.
Because if you found one...
You get the picture.
These days, each and every morning I wake with sudden reaction. Every thought I wake to is of the loo. The sudden jolt defies wit, and frankly that perturbs me... Why won't my brain just nudge me awake at the first inkling?
Why must I experience a long drawn out torture only to have to jump out of bed in the nick of time? Maybe our subconscious thinks its funny. A prank on the host and the senses. Whatever the reason - it boggles the very mind that starts such dribble (no pun intended) in the first place.
Got milk?
Last night I worked myself into a tizzy, over a screen door, I might add. I'd had a bunch of stuff to do, in a very warm kitchen. I just wanted some relief. Instead I found frustration. A lesson, like others - I'm bound to forget.
It all started with an unintended project and my feeble sense of recall. I've always had a short attention span. Many times my lack of focus bites me on my metaphorical behind. Ah, anyways, before I become further diverted, here is the gist of it...
We have a window, a storm door of sorts facing our backyard, and beyond that an eerie alley. It happens to be located in the kitchen, the scene of this 'shaggy dog' story. This particular door's latch doesn't lock properly. In fact, it hasn't the whole time we've lived here. Safety concerned, being the late night nut that I am, I set out to fix it before I'd become absorbed in my duties.
Sure, it looked simple enough - just needed some temporary solution for the time being. Honestly, what started off as a simple project kept me sidetracked much longer than I would have liked. I fiddled with the damn thing long enough, opening and shutting the door endlessly My feeble attempts of repair fruitless. I was becoming impatient, and grew concerned that my cursing could possibly waking the neighbors, whose windows were open for the night's heat. My efforts were proving futile. I was Rewarded by becoming even more hot and bothered!
Finally, I resigned myself to the fact it just wasn't going to work. All I'd accomplished was getting myself angry, wasting time that could have easily been spent getting on other things than needed doing in the house.
Annoyed with how little headway I made with that portion of the evening, I reached for my favored mood stabilizer, ICE CREAM. I clicked time away at the computer, spoon in hand, now yawning. All that buggering around left me tired and unmotivated. I eventually settled on going to bed and cutting my evening short. I relented to the fact the dog had whined plenty and was going to get her way. For some reason in that furry little head - her bedtime was also considered mine.
This morning I woke up full of regret. Trudging around the kitchen becoming aware of the mistake I'd made. A sink full of dishes and a cluttered counter stared me in the face. I'd barely scratched the surface, the whole house was in disarray. Humbled, I set out to make my hubby his lunch (another intended task from the night before), when I truly felt the stab of regret. No, not because I ALWAYS lose focus, never finishing what I start. I doubled over in pain, made aware of the fact I'd forgotten an important detail...
I can no longer digest certain dairy without consequence. My stomach didn't forget, even if I had. A foolish mistake certainly, but it wasn't always this way. Until recently, me and moo-juice got along just fine. Now it creates a war zone in my tummy. What a battle that was! The antagonizing didn't end there. I was at odds with myself, for ceasing to remember such a traumatic fact.
But wait, that's not all! I missed a dose of one of my meds last night (the bitch was back), yet another reason for misery. Something I realized, ruminating in bed last night, at some God forsaken hour.
It all started with an unintended project and my feeble sense of recall. I've always had a short attention span. Many times my lack of focus bites me on my metaphorical behind. Ah, anyways, before I become further diverted, here is the gist of it...
We have a window, a storm door of sorts facing our backyard, and beyond that an eerie alley. It happens to be located in the kitchen, the scene of this 'shaggy dog' story. This particular door's latch doesn't lock properly. In fact, it hasn't the whole time we've lived here. Safety concerned, being the late night nut that I am, I set out to fix it before I'd become absorbed in my duties.
Sure, it looked simple enough - just needed some temporary solution for the time being. Honestly, what started off as a simple project kept me sidetracked much longer than I would have liked. I fiddled with the damn thing long enough, opening and shutting the door endlessly My feeble attempts of repair fruitless. I was becoming impatient, and grew concerned that my cursing could possibly waking the neighbors, whose windows were open for the night's heat. My efforts were proving futile. I was Rewarded by becoming even more hot and bothered!
Finally, I resigned myself to the fact it just wasn't going to work. All I'd accomplished was getting myself angry, wasting time that could have easily been spent getting on other things than needed doing in the house.
Annoyed with how little headway I made with that portion of the evening, I reached for my favored mood stabilizer, ICE CREAM. I clicked time away at the computer, spoon in hand, now yawning. All that buggering around left me tired and unmotivated. I eventually settled on going to bed and cutting my evening short. I relented to the fact the dog had whined plenty and was going to get her way. For some reason in that furry little head - her bedtime was also considered mine.
This morning I woke up full of regret. Trudging around the kitchen becoming aware of the mistake I'd made. A sink full of dishes and a cluttered counter stared me in the face. I'd barely scratched the surface, the whole house was in disarray. Humbled, I set out to make my hubby his lunch (another intended task from the night before), when I truly felt the stab of regret. No, not because I ALWAYS lose focus, never finishing what I start. I doubled over in pain, made aware of the fact I'd forgotten an important detail...
I can no longer digest certain dairy without consequence. My stomach didn't forget, even if I had. A foolish mistake certainly, but it wasn't always this way. Until recently, me and moo-juice got along just fine. Now it creates a war zone in my tummy. What a battle that was! The antagonizing didn't end there. I was at odds with myself, for ceasing to remember such a traumatic fact.
But wait, that's not all! I missed a dose of one of my meds last night (the bitch was back), yet another reason for misery. Something I realized, ruminating in bed last night, at some God forsaken hour.
Munchies
(Doggy voice)
"Hey ma..."
*Crunch crunch*
"Mommmmm!"
*Gulp!*
"I'm gonna eat in here..."
*Cruncha cruncha*
"In case you didn't notice..."
*Kee-runch! *
"Just how much..."
*Pittewy*
"I HATE dry dog food!"
"Hey ma..."
*Crunch crunch*
"Mommmmm!"
*Gulp!*
"I'm gonna eat in here..."
*Cruncha cruncha*
"In case you didn't notice..."
*Kee-runch! *
"Just how much..."
*Pittewy*
"I HATE dry dog food!"
Hot and bothered
If it's not the heat, it's the stupidity.
I'm leery of turning on the news this morning, having heard so many sirens and police cars whizzing by. Virtually the whole night, including the hours that spill into morning - the sound has been nearly endless. Some scientists claim in hot weather people are apt to be more aggressive, that there is a measurable rise in violent crime. Judging by the sound of it, with some speculation, I'd have to agree.
But... Before I elaborate I require my morning caffeine hit, as life is a blur without it. If there is anything happening, which the weather suggests - I'll keep you posted.
For now I'm just going to languish in the maddening heat like everyone else.
I'm leery of turning on the news this morning, having heard so many sirens and police cars whizzing by. Virtually the whole night, including the hours that spill into morning - the sound has been nearly endless. Some scientists claim in hot weather people are apt to be more aggressive, that there is a measurable rise in violent crime. Judging by the sound of it, with some speculation, I'd have to agree.
But... Before I elaborate I require my morning caffeine hit, as life is a blur without it. If there is anything happening, which the weather suggests - I'll keep you posted.
For now I'm just going to languish in the maddening heat like everyone else.
Dog days
I guess they don't call them that for nothing.
So many hot days ahead of us. Even our terrible two can be found hiding out from the heat. This morning I came across them lazing in refuge. Belly up, feet dangling mid-air, splayed across the bed directly in front of the blowing fan. Though early, they already seemed sapped from the temperature.
On days like this I'm reminded of summers past. Those record breaking highs. Feeling the scorch of pavement, sandals missing, barefooted . Comically tip-toeing or hopping madly, depending on the intensity of said cement. Daring the kid next door to face a mother's wrath, and ruin the clean sidewalk with an egg snuck from the kitchen. An attempt and a distraction in homage of how truly hot it felt.
We'd parade our freckled pudgy bodies, blindly squealing, as we'd run through the backyard sprinkler. There was laughter instead of self-conscious loathing . Back then baby fat wasn't the issue it is today. Teasing and bullying aside, wearing halter tops and terry cloth mini-shorts wasn't a fashion faux pas, thick or thin.
We'd beg our moms to pull our hair back into slick ponytails, bringing relief to our necks sticky with perspiration. The odd wispy hair defiantly peeking from our tamed little manes. Spit on fake tatoos, mismatched hair ribbons, clothes in total disarray - we felt downright smashing. All that mattered was how high you could go on the swing, airborne. The sky was the limit.
The neighborhood group of kids fed themselves on Freezies and crazy flavored Happy Pop (a summer solace). The lot of us would poke our tart colored tongues out for sake of comparison. Each of us would then chuckle at the one kid who constantly sported a smudgy upper lip, the remaining evidence of his last frozen fix. Afterwards we'd prop ourselves in the tangle of long grass. Content.
My favorite time was away from home. Out of school, when we would spend our days at our grandma and grandpa's house. So many plans of mischief made in that garden. We spent so much time with our cousins. Stealing ourselves in the thicket of raspberry bushes, pinching mosquito bites.
I fondly recall the entire town's kids (a whopping population of 500, marked on the statue standing in the middle of the dirt road intersection). How we wailed in unison to the air raid siren, much like a pack of dogs. No longer used for intended purpose, it went off marking meal hours and church services. Warning lunch and supper, even curfew instead of some impending bomb.
I realize now what I didn't then. My grandparents had the patience of saints. The kitchen table was always a combat of sugar cereal, the floors muddied from our excursions in and out an ever-swinging screen door. They must have waken to our spurts of giggles middle of the night, as we forced one another's company down the dark passage of stairs in dire urgency towards the bathroom.
Poor Grandma. The trouble we must have been! Our messes and bickering, often underfoot. I can only imagine the frustration, finding the aftermath. Those days, when she found all the beds torn apart, void of clean sheets. When we excused our actions telling her we needed them for our fort, just like the topsy turvy chairs providing support to our makeshift tent! Poor Grandma indeed.
Dear Grand-dad. So funny how he'd refer to us little women as 'boy!' whenever we crossed his path. How sweet it was to see him take a shine to the birds we'd bring, intended our pets, better suited to his quiet nature.
I can't help but let out a little laugh remembering. Like the time 'Boots' (his cat companion) made it's way into the dishwasher he was fixing. Also how sweet it was when he looked forward to watching 'soaps' in the afternoon. 'Puss' the demur sister cat, an avid fan herself, at his side.
Most vivid in mind, an echo. I still miss the sound of the train moving down the tracks. How we stood still, hushed, an entire group of grand kids frozen for a moment, staring into the distance. Our ears piqued and flooded with the sound of it's whistle... It was only when the caboose was seen trailing off that we would resumed playing. Glowing children in the blazing summer sun.
So many hot days ahead of us. Even our terrible two can be found hiding out from the heat. This morning I came across them lazing in refuge. Belly up, feet dangling mid-air, splayed across the bed directly in front of the blowing fan. Though early, they already seemed sapped from the temperature.
On days like this I'm reminded of summers past. Those record breaking highs. Feeling the scorch of pavement, sandals missing, barefooted . Comically tip-toeing or hopping madly, depending on the intensity of said cement. Daring the kid next door to face a mother's wrath, and ruin the clean sidewalk with an egg snuck from the kitchen. An attempt and a distraction in homage of how truly hot it felt.
We'd parade our freckled pudgy bodies, blindly squealing, as we'd run through the backyard sprinkler. There was laughter instead of self-conscious loathing . Back then baby fat wasn't the issue it is today. Teasing and bullying aside, wearing halter tops and terry cloth mini-shorts wasn't a fashion faux pas, thick or thin.
We'd beg our moms to pull our hair back into slick ponytails, bringing relief to our necks sticky with perspiration. The odd wispy hair defiantly peeking from our tamed little manes. Spit on fake tatoos, mismatched hair ribbons, clothes in total disarray - we felt downright smashing. All that mattered was how high you could go on the swing, airborne. The sky was the limit.
The neighborhood group of kids fed themselves on Freezies and crazy flavored Happy Pop (a summer solace). The lot of us would poke our tart colored tongues out for sake of comparison. Each of us would then chuckle at the one kid who constantly sported a smudgy upper lip, the remaining evidence of his last frozen fix. Afterwards we'd prop ourselves in the tangle of long grass. Content.
My favorite time was away from home. Out of school, when we would spend our days at our grandma and grandpa's house. So many plans of mischief made in that garden. We spent so much time with our cousins. Stealing ourselves in the thicket of raspberry bushes, pinching mosquito bites.
I fondly recall the entire town's kids (a whopping population of 500, marked on the statue standing in the middle of the dirt road intersection). How we wailed in unison to the air raid siren, much like a pack of dogs. No longer used for intended purpose, it went off marking meal hours and church services. Warning lunch and supper, even curfew instead of some impending bomb.
I realize now what I didn't then. My grandparents had the patience of saints. The kitchen table was always a combat of sugar cereal, the floors muddied from our excursions in and out an ever-swinging screen door. They must have waken to our spurts of giggles middle of the night, as we forced one another's company down the dark passage of stairs in dire urgency towards the bathroom.
Poor Grandma. The trouble we must have been! Our messes and bickering, often underfoot. I can only imagine the frustration, finding the aftermath. Those days, when she found all the beds torn apart, void of clean sheets. When we excused our actions telling her we needed them for our fort, just like the topsy turvy chairs providing support to our makeshift tent! Poor Grandma indeed.
Dear Grand-dad. So funny how he'd refer to us little women as 'boy!' whenever we crossed his path. How sweet it was to see him take a shine to the birds we'd bring, intended our pets, better suited to his quiet nature.
I can't help but let out a little laugh remembering. Like the time 'Boots' (his cat companion) made it's way into the dishwasher he was fixing. Also how sweet it was when he looked forward to watching 'soaps' in the afternoon. 'Puss' the demur sister cat, an avid fan herself, at his side.
Most vivid in mind, an echo. I still miss the sound of the train moving down the tracks. How we stood still, hushed, an entire group of grand kids frozen for a moment, staring into the distance. Our ears piqued and flooded with the sound of it's whistle... It was only when the caboose was seen trailing off that we would resumed playing. Glowing children in the blazing summer sun.
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