Somehow mislaid from last month ...

I find myself with an unexpected morning to myself. The messy civil case scheduled for the legal crack of dawn today either settled or was otherwise momentarily compromised at the virtual last moment yesterday and, so, off the docket today. The multi-agency meeting long scheduled for the afternoon was, similarly, kicked into the latter part of the month instead at the end of court yesterday. It's a fine thing to sleep until it is light on a mid-winter morning. Even the dogs, in uncharacteristic cooperation, failed to greet the rising sun with their usual bravado.


I seem to have managed lately, in text messages or snippets on FaceBook, to disgruntle, annoy or confuse any number of people. I shall, therefore, take advantage of this unforeseen free time to either attempt reconciliation or further bumfuzzle things. You just never know how it's going to turn out.

~Grace does cat yoga ~

Firstly, to those who now think that I have no sympathy or consideration for the feelings of cats in general and house cats in particular; I refer you to the conditions obtaining in my actual home. While I have, in fact, gone so far as to make sure that the cats who live with me are incapable of reproducing and, further, have mutilated their little front feet so that they can not completely destroy the interior furnishings of my house, I believe that they will confirm that they don't have it so bad. I think the worst they can say of me is that I do not invite them onto my bed to snooze. Everything else in the place is up for grabs. The long and elegant fabric throws with lots of fin de siecle fringe not only give the couch and love seat a touch of shabby refinement, but also distract from the places underneath them where, over the centuries, feline teeth in fits of pique have said, "Oh, yeah? Watch this." I have a duo of felix domesticus so that neither should feel abandoned. In the dark watches of the night, however, it often seems that the noise level from battle joined between them bespeaks a signal desire for a solitary existence. I, at any rate, come off feeling that way when I have to listen to it! They consume pricey specialty foods and demand precedence in all domestic activities involving the non-human members of the corporation. In short, they probably live better than most of the human population of the world. I do not apologize for this; rather, I just wish that my correspondents who do not have to deal with me in person on a regular basis would not give such a PETA-worthy response to my off-hand remarks. Those of you who do have to deal with me know that I'm as likely to recess the mills of justice or reschedule appointments and other obligations in order to run home and let the critters out or take them to the vet as I am to do the same for a nuclear attack. As I wite this the furkid contingent has gracefully draped itself across furniture and along available sun spots on the carpet, waiting patiently for the next item on the day's agenda.


Then there is the matter of my apparent inability to fully recover from hip replacement surgery last year (12/21/10). While I really do not want to become one of those annoying old women who constantly and exclusively whine about their health, it's tough to ignore it when the first thing people ask is "How's your hip?" I suppose I should just embrace dissimulation and say brightly, "Great! Never better." Then limp away. I suppose the post-50 slide to oblivion has begun for me and I just don't want to accept it. Girlfriend Emily and I have re-enlisted at the YMCA and are trying to find some sort of regimen that allows us to get some useful exercise and companionship. At one time, when we seemed decades younger, we would meet at the Y every morning to exercise at 5:00 a.m. After awhile, getting up at 4:00 every morning became tedious, my mid-line joints started failing, and it all went pear-shaped. I have faith, however, that we will be able to figure out something. I think I might be ever so much more fun to be around if I felt more life-like. Please, God, don't let that be an illusion!! For the moment, though, it's amusing to watch the corgis go tearing through the house and out the back door in the morning for first airing, while Pumpkin (aged Dachshund) and I limp and groan along behind. Must keep a humorous sense of the world.

Lastly (and because I have to finally get about doing SOMETHING today), there is the matter of amateur music and funny headgear. I love my girlfriend, Jeanne, dearly and respect her many talents. She has, however, a baffling affinity for dressing up and theatrics. I say baffling because I don't share the penchant to the same degree (wearing feathers in my hair during a party at my own house doesn't count). We play music together and we play music for others. There was a minor contretemps the other day over wearing funny hats while we played for some folks. I didn't want these hats when we had to buy them years ago. I have always fussed and complained when she decreed that we would wear them to play for others. I finally, last week or so, just said, "No." I may, now I think on it, have said some other things, but they were mostly for emphasis. There is something slightly ridiculous about a bunch of post-menopausal women dressing up like Renaissance teenage boys. Especially when they need to wear glasses to see the music. I don't discount the misplaced fervor of those who who choose to attend Medieval Fairs (faires) got up to look like mutton dressed as lamb, but I have no wish to do so. So, no funny hats and better tempers when we play together. I have no objection to concert black, but I don't wear pumpkins, reindeer, hearts, shamrocks, flags, etc. to denote the season of the year. Maybe some nice feathers in my hair ...

And, with that, we shall leave this lamentable episode ...  

(Winston Churchill)