Because I’m really a cat, I have a problem with this whole time thing. To me every day starts with the day growing light, having to pee, reluctantly drawing myself out of the dreams that entertained me through the night. Then I’ll remember there’s a dog who needs a walk. My morning companion will put her sweet little face next to mine and let me inhale her feline sweetness before letting me know she wants to check out the day.
And so it goes – breakfast, lunch, dinner, conversations, laundry and other satisfying household chores, forays into literature or interesting articles in the Wall Street Journal and the Kerrville Daily Times.
Some days are hot, some days are cold. Some days are both. Perhaps because I’m myopic, I concentrate on what’s immediately in front of me and let the blurry future spread out in big, expanding circles
without trying to focus on what may or may not lie ahead.
So, when it comes to the end of the year I don’t really set goals, make resolutions, and let go of the past. I do, however, read through my Daily Reminder before I place it on the shelf along with all the others, going back to 1973. I transfer major events to my Master Chart, which goes back to the beginning of my life and add the books I read to my ongoing list.
It used to be I saw a lot of movies, when I lived in Los Angeles
Now I have a husband who tolerates my quirks, checks on me when I’m napping to make sure I’m not dead. Instead of grown children I have cats and a stinky dog who, on our afternoon walk, found a dried up lawn to roll in. Following behind him as he pulled me along the sidewalk I couldn’t help but find it endearing to see how happily he pranced along, glad to be “in disguise,” and found it hard to stay mad at him. Before coming in the house, he loved the rubdown I gave him. I carefully avoided the shiny black growth on his leg, now big as a ping pong ball, and the “little warty thing” on the top of his head. I saw how white his muzzle has become.
He doesn’t know it’s January 1st. Nor does my cat, lying on the couch with her stomach full. She just let out a big contented sigh. I can hear John bringing the plants back inside after two weeks on the patio. He says it’s going to be twenty-nine degrees tomorrow morning. I’m prepared. My long-johns and thick socks are folded on the end of the bed.
As usual I’ll reluctantly bid farewell to my dreams filled with a cast of interesting characters and steep mountains and/or ocean views. I’ll be one day further from my birth and one day closer to my death. I’ll try to be graceful as I traverse the high wire of my life, keep my balance and not look down.
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