Ponder this:

Sunday, March 28, 2010

Just something to help me ease down into sleep

I am  antsy and agitated, bored and boring, crotchety and cranky.
I fall asleep over my book, turn out the light, turn over. And wake up.
I feel chilled, pull the covers over my shoulder. And begin to feel sticky.
This is why:  The moon is waxing, 95% of full.
What to do...?
If I were a cat I would be roaming the house and yowling.
I decide to give up on "bed" and write something.


If it were warm outdoors, a hot summer night, I would go outside and wander around barefoot, lie on the grass and stare at the lit-up landscape.  On a clear moonlit night, the trees look bigger, sounds carry farther. I would know what's afoot in the old orchard at the bottom of the field.


I have been ill. A virus that swelled in mere minutes into a full peony blossom of a cold and settled in my sinuses and in my bronchi.  I am mostly past the wheezy stage, thanks to an arsenal of medications. During the worst of it, I regressed emotionally to six years old.  I wanted my mother, sitting on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through my hair over and over again, speaking in soft tones about nothing.
I tried running my own fingers through my hair: it isn't the same.


I saw a coyote in the morning two days ago while I waited for the dogs to wend their way indoors from the front yard. It was strolling uphill in the field between the house and the road. I wanted Husband's gun, not to shoot it . . . I couldn't hit anything smaller than the house . . . but to make our environs noisily inhospitable.  Lacking anything more noisy than myself, I yelled unintelligible sounds, and clapped my hands to make as much of a rifle sound as hands can. I jumped up and down and waved my arms. The coyote heard, stopped, looked at me from the quarter-mile distance.
He looked for a little longer than I wished him to. But then he dropped his head and took up a slow lope toward the top of the field until he was out of sight.  I suspect he was put off more by the sight of a leaping, yelling crazy woman than by any fear of harm.
Pretty little thing, he was. But I want him no closer than he was to me and my dogs.


The robins, red chests all fat and round, have been scouring the yard for days, reminding me of The Gleaners.  

A few times a day during these days of Bad Breathing, I suit up and go outdoors to wander the perimeter of the yard with the dogs in the deceptive sun. It's colder than the golden light makes it appear, but just right for my out-of-order respiratory system.  There isn't mud smell yet; too early and too chilly. But neither is there the scent of snow in the air.  
I wander the way I did as a child: over there to see if the bluebird houses have tenants, a little farther to pick up branches fallen from the locust trees. There is a branch twisted loose enough to hang down, but not broken, partially blocking one of the bluebird houses.  I think the bluebirds won't like that, so I pull on the end that's near the ground.  But it needs a saw and it's too high to cut without a ladder. Ladder-carrying is beyond my interest and capabilities, so I leave it, and wander on. 
I watch the ground under my steps. Most of the yard has solidified, but in spots my feet make prints surrounded by pressed-out water. If I were six, I would imagine I were a giant stepping over the earth.
There's something greening up in the garden. I suspect it's a weed, but it's green.  I so long to see green that I leave it and make a note to trowel it out on a later trip.
A red-tailed hawk perches in a tree, waiting for some four-legged meal to appear. He allows me much closer  than I expect and I stare upward at him, all gathered into himself, part of the tree in which he waits motionless. Finally he spreads his wings and flaps twice, with the slightest of feather sounds, flies off.  I don't know if I've made him feel crowded or if he's simply off to check other hunting grounds.

Since I'm out and moving, I bring in some wood from the shed, justifying my continued existence: Two trips, seven pieces of wood. I let them fall, bumping and banging into the woodbox and take off my jacket, hang it by the door. 

I have three novels half-read. Begin one, take it upstairs for napping, forget to bring it downstairs, start another. That one takes more concentration than I can spare, so a third comes off the shelf. My mind weaves together plot and characters from all three so that it takes several pages of each to orient myself to whatever book is in hand.

All this desultory motion, and not much product to count up at the end of the day. 
Exactly like being six years old again.

19 comments:

Inay said...

yup and at the end of the day...
tired and sometimes helpless...

inside our heart we left something behind...undone...

so wish you well....
it pays to be a mom...

SmitoniusAndSonata said...

You're definitely getting better , once you get to the bored and scratchy stage .
Another cauldron of chicken soup and you'll feel like new .
( I sound like my grandmother ! )

Abraham said...

Hope you are soon feeling better. I suppose the coyote wondered who you were? LOL That part was funny.

kanishk said...

You're definitely getting better
home jobs without registration

Hilary said...

That sounds like a pleasant enough day despite not feeling well. Hopefully the coyote will keep its distance - particularly if you have small dogs. Hawks too for that matter.

Trying to read three books would make me crazy and ... lose sleep. ;) Actually your sleeping habits sound very much like my own.

Wanda said...

Your desultory motion certainly made a charming story at the end of the day! I related to all you spoke of...the Bluebirds, broken branches, spying a perched hawk, a water logged field and Robins... experienced most of it myself yesterday on a walk, except for the coyote. I have yet to see one myself.
I'm sorry for your period of illness, but the resulting post was greatly enjoyed, June!

Lord Wellbourne said...

Why is it that our blogs are so much more interesting when we ourselves feel the least 'interesting'?

Hope you're feeling better soon. This was an excellent post--made me feel as though you were following me around taking notes. I know I'm in the minority but I really like coyotes, I think they're so beautiful. There's quite a pack of them nearby--I hear them when the wind's right. Can you imagine what yours had to say to the rest of his clan when he got home?

June said...

Inay, thank you for your faithful visits and comments.

S&S, chicken soup was Friday, and I think I fulfilled my sodium requirement for the month. Bored and scratchy: just how I feel.

Mr. Lincoln, I do think I saw a hint of a "what the hell???" in a word balloon over the coyote's head.

kanishk, yes, I think I have passed from pathetic to annoyed. Must be getting well...

Hilary, I am convinced that "our kind" of sleeping is the way it was meant to be. At least for us, for whom it works. Small dogs, yes...and more threats out there than just the coyotes and hawks. The dogs are old and becoming less adventurous, much to my relief.

Wanda, thanks. Reviewing all those things settled me down nicely and I toddled off to sleep quite dreamily afterward. I hope you do see a coyote sometime...they're very pretty.

LW, I love coyotes! I love to see them, love to hear them. I have walked through fields with a single coyote a couple of hundred feet away, sitting and watching me with his beautiful golden eyes. I just love them. But there must be a perimeter beyond which the opportunistic little buggers may not come.
If the "I'm bored" posts are better it's because The Editor has chained herself in her padded room of an office and left the imps to write.

Von said...

You're getting better,must be you're on your feet and getting grumpy a sure sign.A lack of mothers in later years sure is hard sometimes, odd moments once in a while.
Coyotes are unknown to me but suspect they're a bit like our dingoes, been there, done that, seen it all, not impressed.
Get well soon..tried Br Bach's Flower remedies? Oak and Rescue Remedy for starters would help you feel better.

June said...

Yes, Von...I think coyote and dingo behavior is probably much alike. In the eastern US the coyotes are big, having bred, "they say," with red wolves. They're fluffy, like wolves, but daintier...long legs.

Lord Wellbourne said...

Vive les imps!

Fran said...

You write about being ill very well.

JOE TODD said...

I glean you the best.. Get better soon

Friko said...

also except to turn it into a lyrical and beautiful account of the aimless yet perceptive wanderings of a human being at a slightly loose end.
I don't know why, but I absolutely loved this post.
Please, madam, can I have some more?

Carolynn said...

Good for you for getting out there. If I were feeling under the weather, I'd be cocooned under a cosy blanket with a hot beverage, a good book (or three *wink*) and a purring cat on my lap. Come to think of it, I did a little bit of that on Sunday morning. Bliss.

"Nicole", my alter ego said...

I'm glad to know that I am not the only one that has three books going and none of them are yet finished...I also love your train of though considering the degree of concentration require concerning the book you choose to read...This is exactly why I usually have three books going...(or it could be latent? ADD...)

jinksy said...

Oh, yes, three books - odd sleep pattern - aimless, perceptive wandering - I recognise all those symptoms. Does it mean I have your virus too, or am I just a hypochondriacal copy?! Can't match the coyote though...

Barb said...

I'm sorry you're sick, but I'm in the same boat and your post makes me feel better. I liked wandering with you as I sit here in Denver blowing my nose. A friend just brought me some homemade chicken soup - I'd share if we lived closer.

June said...

LW, les imps vivent!

Fran, thanks. I left out some of the more distasteful details. Likely you wouldn’t have enjoyed what I could do with those.

Hey, Joe…your “gleaning me the best” worked! Thanks.

Thanks, Friko. I’m pretty practiced at aimless wandering. If you enjoy hearing about it, I’ll give vent to it more often. :-)

Carolynn, I had to get outside. The boredom was making me want to shed my skin! Besides, the cool moist air felt GOOD in my airways.

Nicole, I’ve recently begun to wonder if ADD might be an issue with me. More likely it’s light-mindedness.

Jinksy, I do those things all the time. Being a little unwell just made me feel a little more justified in doing them. :-P

Gee, Barb, I’m sorry YOU’re sick! Homemade chicken soup is the very best, most comforting food item, isn’t it?