It’s been raining mightily this morning and yet the cats beg to go outside and play. I let them out and they run straight for the puddles and dance in the fresh muddy soil that I laid down last weekend in an attempt to revitalize the lawn situation. A half-hour later I get up to grab some more coffee and notice that the cats have been back through the house leaving criss-cross patterns of dirty tracks upon the floors and furniture. I am reminded of those Family Circus cartoons where Billy’s adventures are traced by thick black dashes.
Thankfully, my bachelor days have come to a close as the misses has returned from Minnesota. She came back with an extra suitcase bursting with impossibly small clothing. We fight the temptation to dress the cats in miniature buster browns and R2D2 onesies. It’s beginning to dawn on me that life is going to get awfully noisy in about twelve weeks. So I’ve taken to enjoying the vast quietude of these days and nights. Lot’s of reading, gentle jazz, tea and, most importantly, sitting very still and doing and thinking absolutely nothing. I suppose one could argue that I should be doing the exact opposite. I should be in training mode; set the iTunes up with some loud un-listenable free-jazz-noise-prog and multi-task till I collapse in a fevered pirouette. But I am sure no amount of ‘training’ can prepare one for this next turn of events and thus I am determined to bask in the simple silence of conjecture until the Deejay drops the needle and the party explodes with the heat of a hundred suns.