Tuesday, June 28, 2011


It's cloudy. I wake up on cloudy days feeling more lethargic. The pains I have from old injuries are more present, demanding I not ignore them again. The pains are like old Gods, ones I worshipped before I found love in all the sacred manifestation.  I have a cat that is cuddling. She purrs beside me. It's the Siamese.  Always a talker.  So much she wants to tell me. I've hardly opened my eyes and she's complaining and wanting.  She rubs against my leg as I stumble out of bed. I do stumble, literally. The dog is there to greet me, blocking the trajectory from v berth to head. I have to step over him as he stretches and smiles. I've just missed having my face licked.  When I exit the head I have a menagerie underfoot.  First the cat gets fed.  She insists on having her Fancy Feast opened and placed in just such a way.  At least that's what I assume she's telling me. Every morning it's the same supervision with a lot of language and attitude before she settles to nibbling away.  I have to find sweats to go with the t shirt.  Then the mocassins are somewhere under the salon table.  I'm at his level so I get my face licked. He's bouncing about. This slipper search is precurser to his walk.  His morning walk. "Master is taking me for a walk".  He's eyeing the cat when he grins letting her know he's important. There's a lot of heirarchy going on between them always.  Mostly she's just on top but he like a pre bastille French revolutionary before her Royalist ways.  I find his leash and a jacket.  We're out the door and on deck. She doesn't even look up from her eating.  He's done several circles and leaps to the dock before running back and forth a dozen times while I close up and join him.  Then he runs the length of the dock only stopping to sniff seagull shit.  "This is new seagull shit," his little brain registers with the sort of importance a human might give to winning the lottery. I'm tired watching before we even make the gate.
Suffice it to say we have a walk.  He poops.  There are alot of smells that make this a spectacular walk but to hear him every walk is spectacular.  I'm sure this is good for me.  Walking.  I'm really glad to be back on the boat though.  Coffee, now that's what I believe is really good for me.  I've a stove top expresso maker and Starbucks dark roast.  I use canned milk and honey.  There's yoghurt in the freezer fridge. I eat a strawberry one while waiting for the toast on the stove top toaster.  It's like a camping a frame stainless steel thing I prefer to the electric toaster I decided didn't belong in the boat anymore.  Over the years various kitchen devices from microwaves to pressure cookers have had their day in the sun till one day they seem to take up too much space, energy or not be needed. I'm Thoreau in Walden Pond on my boat.  It's really a ship, technically.  Lloyd's of London registry.
When the toast is ready I smear peanut butter on it and go into the salon with it and the morning coffee.  I sit there drinking coffee, eating toast and reading the Bible.  It's an NIV Bible.  After King James and the new English bible I just found my way to NIV.  The NIV Study Bible I took to VST, Regent and St. Mark's with me was the first. It's covered in notes and underlining.  The one I'm reading now is 365 days.  I check each day I read.  I'm in Kings now.  The Israelis are butchering their neighbours, being butchered in turn and when they're not butchering strangers or being butchered by strangers they're butchering each other. The Kings are killing and the Queens are killing and a long job in monarchy seems a decade or two. The prophets are haranguing them about Aserath poles in high places and sticking to the unseen God. It's always a struggle between spirituality and materialism.  Jesus is done in the New Testament part and Paul is tent making and preaching.  At the end of every section I read a psalm and proverb.
After  I read the news which depresses me.  It's not that there's not good news but the media is intent on fear mongering and destroying.  At least my friends on Facebook have happy things to say and good news to share.  I got a Nora Jones you tube link from Richard and listened to her remembering how much I've always enjoyed her.  Like Carrie Underwood.  Jones has me thinking of Tagore though.  She's singing a tribute to Elvis Presley but I'm remembering seeing her sister and her father Ravi Shankar playing together at the Queen E theatre.  I'd love to be a fly on the wall at a family gathering jam in the backyard with this group.
It's time to get ready for work. Shaving, showering, dressing and making sure I have all the bits and sundry I need for the day.  Also remembering to close hatches, shut off propane,  before being away for another day. Angel the cat is in charge.  I think she's glad when we leave.  She has her home all to herself then.

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