23 August, 2018 Thursday
I dreamt my older daughter had bought three pairs of running shoes and one of them was for me.
Other dreams happened, I know they did, but alas my waking morning memory seems to flush them away as I ask my body to be vertical.
I was deeply asleep, deeply asleep this morning when my lovely Saluki boy found the Zoi pup’s spot on the bed empty and decided he needed his cuddle with me. “Oh”, I told him as he stood above my head gazing the eons of his genes down his lovely nose at me. “I am too sleepy right now.” So in his inimitable fashion, he lowers his tautly muscled frame with his inherent grace any ballet diva would kill for into the negative space between my husband and me. I half wake to make sure the two small longhaired dachshund bodies are not underneath his mass and have to shift them both to snuggle up against me end to end with the topmost duckle’s head across my upper arm. I close my eyes as I feel the Saluki’s nose, feather like, rest in the palm of my open hand. If that is the only piece of me he can have at the moment, he will be content with that as long as at least one of my fingers strokes the side of his velvet snout. Three of my fingers sleepily oblige and we all fall back into an early morning doze.
Where is my poor husband as all physical politics is happening you might ask? He is patiently waiting to see if these negotiations warrant any movement or demand for space on his part. He is gargantuan in form but loath to enact any kind of demand on those around him unless his physical needs are too sorely impacted, being that he exists in a body whose dimensions require a different scale of support than those of us who top out between four to six feet. Short people feel the world is against them? Well, so do tall people. He is what you call a gentle giant. And there are other aspects about him which may warrant revelation as this tale winds forward but for the descriptive purposes of the bed puzzle politics, I will leave you with the gentle giant flavor. This particular morning, he did not peep or shift.
Facebook tells me my cousin’s beloved lab, due to kidney failure, has passed at the ripe old age of fourteen. My cousin manifests the animal nurture obsession running through my gene pool even more than I do. I comment weeping how beautiful the life she gave her beloved lab was with emoji rainbow, heart and kiss accents. Then a dear friend in Europe calls to say the elder dog in her pack has passed also. As I rise to my pack’s morning scramble listening to her sadness, I am so grateful the six who bless me with their loyalties and love are all moving and wagging, some of them even smiling, as we stream down the stairs to the day.
Tea is green again this morning. I hear my African Grey squeak at me from behind his night cover in the corner in the kitchen. He is making the phone ringing noise. Did I tell you I have an African Grey parrot? Harpo. And his origin story is funny and sad and about the passing of the baton one feathered soul to another. It is a story for another day.
Air is clearer this morning. And of course the reason we do not have clear air is that it is full of smoke sourced in the massive fires burning all across the West of North America. The last few days of smoke haze has not been locally sourced. British Columbia’s fires and California’s fires, etc, etc, etc, all seem periodically to send their plumes down the Columbia River. And Global Warming is a Hoax, eh? If I ever have grandchildren, they will not know the weather patterns I have known and still cling to the hope they will come back. Among many other guilt pockets I carry, Eco Guilt is the one hiding in the back of my closet. Three cars in my driveway, non electric, and oh yes, I do generate a massive amount of garbage. Moving on…
So yes, I guess my way of offsetting my unconscious Eco Guilt is to support my daughter and her husband using my field for their chicken project. And the way they choose to do it. The field is richer and revived, the chickens are the most amazing poultry meat I have ever tasted. I may give up my beloved duck in favor of these incredible chickens. I watch my daughter from my living room window way down in the field walking, bending, pouring, shifting followed by her fowl and see the fairy child she in the vague overlay parents can have when watching their adult offspring do their adult actions. But always the child is living in us. Continuum…my daughter hates it when I go here…LOLOL
I drift. In avoidance of the Eco Guilt cop? Hmmm something to ponder. But back to justification for pastured poultry sustainable food practices in this period of human occupation of Earth, it is the right thing to do. Its what I can do.
I have neighbors who wish chickens were not part of their pastoral perspective. Which will lead to another time’s discussion of modern land use dispute issues.
Ta.
Tea With Me 