Wiffle Ball Bats & The Blob
I filled a 5-gallon bucket at my feed with the cubes of zuch, and created a stock pot of other kitchen finds. Some old cobs of sweet corn, a few windfall apples I collected, and a few far-gone tomatoes. The morning meal was all vegetarian and pretty darn healthy if I do say so myself. I was sipping a large mug of coffee and enjoying that as my breakfast. I must admit, it wasn't anywhere near as splendid as the pig bucket.
I had not slept well. I blame my dreams and a pack of coyotes. I had the same dream last night I have had since I was six years old. While the story and characters never stop changing I always dream the same theme: survival leadership. I do not have sex dreams, or artistic dreams, or dreams about forgetting classes or being naked in public. Ever since I was a little girl I have had these movie-style dreams about some disaster happening (a plane crash, alien attack, world war 3, etc) and having to outsmart and survive it. The first one I can remember took place in my hometown. Remember that old movie, The Blob? I dreamt a purple ooze was coming for us and covering the earth at a slow crawl and everything it touched died. Soon as the purple gunk covered it, it hardened and all behind it was like purple glass. I watched people, horses, wild deer and cars get slowly consumed by the ooze then turned into statues. When I saw it coming for me at a slow slink I did what no one else had thought to do. Right when it was about to hit my feet I jumped and landed on the already hard opposite side. It was a dream but it was also a lesson: when things get bad, stop and think. Also, don't be afraid to jump
Last night's dream was about something involving an attack of monsters and I turned into an Eagle to fly away. It was the kind of dream that was so detailed you woke up exhausted. I did wake up from it, and I was tired as hell, but what woke me wasn't morning chores - it was coyotes. They were on the mountain and moving fast. If you never heard a pack of songdogs sing it is as haunting as it is beautiful. They yipped and howled, crooned and hollered and at one point I swear it was in my own backyard. But come morning light there was no casualties and the cats seemed as comfortable as pharaohs. It was a song of travel, I suppose.
I fell back asleep and woke up hours later, convinced I had missed morning chores. glanced at the clock and read it somewhere around 9AM. That was wicked late, and in a panic I raced outside with gibson to take care of all the chores I could, apologizing to all the animals about the late state. I had to put on a wool sweater, and my breath swirled around my face and from the giant nostrils of the horses. The outside thermometer read 42 degrees. Not normal for August but an appreciated preview of early fall. With sheep, horses, and poultry content I came back inside with a bucket and one of Jo's charity squash. When I got back into the kitchen I read the clock, now with my glasses on. It was 6:48AM.
Looks like I had more time than I realized? I let that reality sink in. It isn't often you get a gift of time, usually you spend all your effort on the subject wondering where it went, not what to do with some you stole. I poured another cup of coffee and planned out the day on paper. I had a Mews to paint, errands to run, hay to pickup, and other chores and sundries to experience. But for now, another cup of coffee would do.
Easier than saving myself from monster glop, at least.