Last night it rained again, and the clouds are hanging around as showers are predicted. It is in the 50’s, Cape Cod spring warm. The dogs have been out a couple of times. Nala is disappointed by the weather. She likes to lie in the sun, but, instead, she is on the couch. Henry is on my bed upstairs. He likes to stretch out. My dogs live better than I do. 

When I was a kid, our dog Duke was not allowed on furniture, but he had ways around it. He’d lie across the bed with only the tips of his nails on the floor. At night, he’d sleep on the couch, and we would hear him get off the couch s we went downstairs. He never got caught. My dogs think the couch is theirs. I sit in the middle and one dog is on each side of me. They are comfortable, but I am not. My dogs definitely live better than I do.  

I still moan a bit when I move, but it is getting better. I don’t moan as loudly. My hand is still ugly. If I had a job as a hand model, I’d be out of the job. My friends have been wonderful. They feed me and keep me company. They call to check on me. My neighbor stops by every day. My sister calls every morning. I am being well taken care of.

My front garden is lovely, filled with color. The dafs and the hyacinths are high. The dafs are yellow while the hyacinths are purple, red and orange. More flowers are getting close to blooming. I can see buds on my lilac tree. Spring is barreling through the cold nights and mornings. It is taking its turn.

My yard is littered with Nala trash. It looks like an empty lot. I haven’t been vigilant enough with used paper goods and such, but I have protected my food. From the deck I can see paper plates, my stolen cough drops strewn around, a few stray pieces of paper and some paper towels. I am tolerating the trash. 

I have no lists. I am bereft. My house is filled with tumbleweeds disguised as balls of fur. I grab them when they float in the air as I walk by them, mostly in the hall. My sweatshirt sleeve is my duster. I run it across table tops. I think of it as piecemeal cleaning. 

I am about to be throned sloth queen. There are no other contenders. 

This entry was posted on April 15, 2025 at 11:55 am and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.