Missing Moose

June 30, 2013

In the night, Sonny, who was sleeping beside me in the massive bed inside the pop-up, parked smack dab in the center of the pole barn, woke up with a start. She peered out of the screen to stare at the household items stacked up on the back wall to ask “What are those, where is my bed, where is my bed?” I gently laid her back down, told her it is alright and to go back to sleep. One more bizarre incident and she was out cold, not remembering a thing about them in the stark morning sunshine. Her parents and oldest sister, Carrie had warned me about Sonny’s kicking and twisting in the night but, either I didn’t feel it in my stupor of non-rest, or it never happened. I fussed about missing Moose, the pickles left out on the table, my tender feet, the fact that I was not sleeping, odd bumping noises in the pole barn, gossipy judgments about the guests, tallying the cost of my uneaten salad, worries about the dog keeping everyone up with his whining since he couldn’t come out and sleep next to the bed in the camper and other earth shattering fixations I cannot seem to recall.

We surprisingly had some dessert left over for breakfast. I startled myself by avoiding the loaded table. Anticipated the yummy build-your-own breakfast burritos and strong milky coffee. Swept through the pole barn, making many trips back and forth to the house. Not much of the food could be rescued since it had played hide and seek with our responsible adult crowd and sat out all night on the tables, exposed to the germ-cultivating air. Guests had scored their dishes, utensils and coolers and made off like bandits after the fireworks, leaving the clean-up for the late night sleepover guests.

The five of us sat with our steamy coffee mugs wrapped around our worked-to-the-bone fingers and laughed about antics during the party. I am so happy to recognize couples who work at making a good relationship happen, one for 32 years, the other for a mere ten.

Black trash bags lined-up for a free ride to my place in St Paul, where I scavenged the recyclables, tossed the “real” garbage in the can out back. Most likely become a bag lady in the future, tossing cans, glass, plastic bottles and such, to haul in a stolen shopping cart, to the recycle center for my pennies-per-pound rations. Just can’t stand to accept the recycling being thrown “away” so I insist on lugging it all the way home. Been practicing that addictive behavior for dozens of years.

Got word today that my daughter, along with the rest of the Excursion group, has made it to Thailand and are eating well, getting accustomed to the heavy heat and settling-into their routines in Phapang. I will eventually hear Taelor’s voice on the other end of my cell phone and remember just how much I miss her. Catches me off-guard every year. I will be organized with a list of things to discuss with her since we have very limited minutes to speak privately. My first personal letter went into her carry-on bag and another is waiting for pick-up in the mailbox on the front stoop. Takes approximately two weeks to arrive on the other side of the planet so I will communicate with her just a few times while she is there.

A long and lazy ride home without much going through my fatigued mind, Tyrus paced in the back seat, hot and tired as well. Too much playing with the Boxers and up late with the house guests, Moose was at the porch window and purring before I got the door unlocked. I was able to unload the vehicle and pet her in between each trip into the house.

Fireworks pop and Tyrus is getting anxious. Why aren’t felines bothered by the booming noise? Calm Forte disguised in cheese curds may work for the pup. An end result could be a gassy yet nervous dog or a gassy drugged calm dog. Stay-tuned tomorrow to see which companion pet I end up with tonight.