“The crowing of the rooster is the symphony of morning.”
Today is an ugly day. It is cloudy and cold, at 56°. It is a hold your cup between your hands to keep your hands warm day. The dogs stay in and sleep on the couch. They are into comfort. They are my role models.
When I was a kid, I never thought about really getting old. I couldn’t wait until I was a teenager then I wanted to be the magic age of twenty one which brought voting and drinking legally. My first presidential election was between Humphrey-Nixon. My choice lost though later I felt vindicated. When I was in Washington the summer of Watergate, I saw Senator Humphrey and had him sign the book I was reading, Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series. Somehow it seemed the perfect book for him. I still have the book and have flagged it as a keeper on my bookshelf. My next milestone was turning thirty, the mantra of never trusting anyone over thirty in my head. After that, celebrations on my birthdays got sketchy. I remember 50 and 70 as special. I figure the next special will be 80.
I see the world through young eyes in an old body. It has been a while, but I’m still adjusting. I keep thinking I can do what I can no longer do. I can’t, but I keep trying. The problem will be solved if I get a Sherpa, a handyman, a house cleaner and a lady’s maid. Maybe I should take out some ads!
I love roosters welcoming the morning. It is like they know how good a new day is every day. I had a rooster in Ghana. He was brown. He was loud. He was still around when I left. When I went back for the first time, a rooster crowing outside my window woke me up. I listened for a while then fell back to sleep. I was happy to hear the rooster. He made me smile.
I have an Alexa and a Google. I favor the Alexa. The Google is ridiculous at times. Yesterday I asked my Google how far it is between the Hawaiian Islands and California. He told me he couldn’t find driving instructions. I reframed the question, necessary for using Google, and asked again, same answer, common for Google. I asked my Alexa the exact same first question. She told me 2400 miles. Sometimes my idiot Google doesn’t give an answer but says something nonsensical. I’ve decided to switch the kitchen Alexa for the frustrating den Google. I’m hoping Google can figure out kitchen equivalents. Alexa surely could.
On my dance card, tomorrow is my household work day. I want to dust and water plants and maybe do a dump run as I can’t on Sunday as I have my first outdoor concert of the season. It is supposed to be the warmest day so far this spring, 68°, so I’m looking forward to lots of sun and strumming.
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keepthecoffeecoming.blog 
May 15, 2026 at 8:02 pm
Ode to a Rooster
***
Supper depended on the bird
We bargained word by word
A deal was struck
No more to cluck
And shorter by a third
May 16, 2026 at 12:05 am
Beto,
This is a perfect depiction of me in the market buying my chicken for dinner. The chickens were tied by a rope stretched cross the ground. I went and picked my bird. I then bargained for it. Its feet were tied. The bird was handed to me, and I took it home where it met a timely death.
May 16, 2026 at 10:21 am
When I was two and a half my Father was assigned to the Air Force base in Paris so the family went except for the bonus baby, me. All the other kids were from 8 to 16. They parked me with my Anglo grandmother, a Primitive Baptist, who didn’t believe in electricity, who had a working farm she kept herself. Hardest working person I ever knew.
The family wasn’t a mile down the road when I was given my first job; catch a rooster for lunch. I was enthusiastic. She had me hold it across a stump by its feet and head while she raised an axe a couple inches and popped it’s head off.
I made the mistake of letting go and the headless rooster chased me, completely by chance I’m sure, and spewed blood all over me. By the time my family returned I was arguably the hardest four year old in Texas.
May 16, 2026 at 10:59 am
Beto,
I really hated watching the chickens dispatched though I had no problem eating them. They were killed by someone else who claimed the he’d and feet so he could make broth. We used to celebrate Thanksgiving though Ghana, of course, did not. We bought the only turkey we could find and a couple of chickens. The headless fowl were put in a tub. Their bodies kept sort of flipping out of the tub. Finally I understood a headless chicken running!
You were quite the four year old. I have to think you were glad your parents returned.