Ramblings After Midnight

          1. Being Brave

Having gone to bed early last night, I just woke up and thought it was morning.  Little Cuddle Bug was missing from my bed but when she heard me get up she ran from the living room to greet me.  Yesterday she napped so much I wondered if she might be a little sick, but she's her sweet playful self. 

She came up to the side of my bed and asked me ever so politely if it might be okay if she went outside for a minute.  She rarely makes requests or gets up in the night, so I could tell she had business to attend to.  "I didn't want to disturb you, I could see you're sleeping, but if you don't mind, I would like to go out," she says. 

When I ask, "Do you want to go outside?" she runs to the door with great joy--I can only call it joy! When she gets near the door, she tenses up as if for a brave attack on her imaginary prey.  She holds that position until I get the door open, then she runs to the same spot she always runs to, barking and growling.  She thinks she's huge in these moments and a force to be reckoned with--quite the opposite of the docile little thing she is during the day. The night brings out the wild in her. 

Once, she must have seen something real in that spot--maybe a possum or skunk or cat--and forever after that one siting, she goes there with a clear intention: kill the interloper! If not mortal danger, she hopes to, at the very least, warn the critter that she could inflict some serious damage. 

On these middle of the night trips into enemy territory behind the jasmine trellis, she runs very fast.  She doesn't stop until she checks out the whole back yard and gets an all-clear.  Only after her patrol ends is she ready for more mundane business, like having a pee next to Jan's house. 

Makes me wonder how often we bulk up ourselves for battle just remembering something scary that happened way long ago? I know I do.  I can do the Luci-equivalent of tensing up my muscles at the prospect of approaching a problem that lives only in my head--though I'm more apt to run away from than toward. 

Several neighbors have spotted a coyote recently.  So when I do open the door after dark, I stand guard in the doorway scanning the yard for anything wild that could give itsy bitsy Luci a run for her money, or worse.  (She thinks she's protecting me and this vast-to-her estate; I think I'm her protector.  Maybe we're both deluded and naive?)

Now I have returned to my bed and she has lifted up the covers to burrow all the way down under where she likes to sleep right up next to me, curled up in a ball.  She loves her little cotton cave and I can return to sleep with peace of mind, knowing that if any interlopers do come near, she will announce and pounce. 

          2. Correction...

To yesterday's post: 

Kate assured me that native Texans do indeed--contrary to my generalization--say "love you to death" and "Fixing to."    I stand corrected.  Turns out, after she reminded me (indignant that I would draw such a line), she does share almost all my linguistic Southern!  But you have to have been born and raised (not reared) here--and she was. 

Most everybody we know, turns out, is what Kate calls a "transplant." Including me. I noted upon my arrival in Texas that people gave me a look when I said "I might could" and certain expressions not shared by transplanted people from north of here.   Once a college professor at St. Mary's stopped class to ask me, "Where in the world are you from?"--which got him laughter from the class and  embarrassed me into silence.  

(I wish I'd been bold enough to ask him the same question, but I knew: Chicago.  And who makes fun of Chicago?) 

Once Kate and I took a road trip to Georgia together.  We braked for thrift shops and butterbeans.

The red clay sweet tea humid air of Alabama, along with one of the five-in-a-row Jesus stations we turned on just so we could imitate and say "Amen, Sista!" --got us both hamming up the Southern.  Whatever country church revivals I've been to, turns out Kate can do back-woods Baptist with the best of 'em.

          3. My poor ole leg. 

Several of you have called and texted to say that you hope the shot I got fixed me right up.  The jury is still out. 

Some nights I wake up moaning just like before, but yesterday afternoon, I had a few glorious pain-free hours.  

It may not be one and done like I'd hoped, but I know I'm on the right track. I get a second shot on March 2nd.  Then I'll see a back specialist and find out if I'm up for a road trip.