Mid Winter Blues in A Minor

A most pleasant of days winks at me. I rise from my slumber, a recently unmatched marathon of sleep lasting 12 largely uninterrupted hours. I stretch and crackle and feel the cool sheets engulf me in their possibly unnecessary ridiculously high thread count. The drapes hide a majority of sunlight, pecking to get in. I think back to a minor sleep altercation several hours ago involving an evidently well rested and agile cat. Full throttle across the room cat plunge onto my nuts is no way to start my day. The screams and promises of a quick death for kitty still echoing throughout the quiet home I returned to a dream state.

What was that final dream? I wish I could remember now. I want to say it was almost a nightmare but I was in control. Something with a car or a gun or instrument? I am most certain it was not magic, wizards, love, or cats! Well it was nice to dream and breathe and be at the perfect temperature for ½ a day.

I am out of coffee! I sit up on 3 pillows sipping away at green tea with local honey. I wish I had a bagel and lox. Maybe I should cook up some brown eggs. Bathe them in my green chile sauce, which would make that like my upteenth consecutive meal to include hot chile. Ah. Well, I think maybe this best be addressed much after I come to.

Farmville awaits. A farmer does not have the luxury of sleep. No FFA award for me today. There are roses and watermelons to harvest. There are barns to build and neighbors to visit. Maybe I will whack some gangsters after that on Mob Wars or Mafia Wars. I must start my day in a virtual land.

Cravings for Pete Townshend have snookied, snickered, into my eardrums. A hunger I can not explain has taken me over. It is a hunger for the sweet sweet music of a man whose music I have never purchased. I quickly downnload the standards right onto my laptop. “No one respects the flame quite like the fool who's badly burned. From all this you'd imagine that there must be something learned” .

I will be preparing a Native American winter stew today. Garbanzo beans, chunks of beef, hot red chile. This is my contribution to a party we will attend this evening. A "Ceiligh" to be exact. It is delicious and warming to the soul. Our souls are so cold we may need more. My famous Martini Kit might be in order.

The Martini Kit. An aluminum case purchased at Wal Mart oh so many years ago. I delicately sliced and glued the foam rubber innards to fit all the essentials of a martini party. Outside this case now dangle silent remnants of her travels. Ripped airport tags, decals, dents, stains, and a pair of handcuffs. This is Top Secret stuff here people. Lurking inside her protective shell are comical napkins, toothpicks, Martini & Rossi Extra Dry Vermouth, and an eyedropper. There is a jigger, a jar of olives waiting to have their navels plucked dry and replaced with a fine blue cheese. A standard bottle of chilled Vodka will fit into the chiseled place that will not hold a 1.75 Litre bottle of Tito’s Vodka.

The crock pot is my friend. I will prepare my goods and slink up outta here. I spy the glorious blue skied day from my television set via surveillance cameras about the perimeter of my property. The weather channel assures me that there is a steady warmth growing outside these walls. Winter is taking a break today and Spring wants her down for the count. I could put the top down. That may require a hat. I could wash the car. Snow flurries tonight and snow for the next two days. Allegedly. This is why I want to throw a slurpy at the weatherman every time I see him standing on the corner. Take that you boob.

I am ready to adventure. I am ready to write. I am ready to capture life through my lenses. My camera is charged. My tea is gone. My faded blue jeans hang from the exercise equipment, calling to me like an old friend. Wait, that’s weird- my friends aren’t hanging from my exercise equipment. Matter of fact most would stay far away from exercise equipment! Ha! And if they were in my bedroom when I awoke it would be even more weird. “Hey! What the fuck are you doing?”, “How’d you get in here?”. “Did I give you the alarm code?”, “What’s up bro?”. “Oh shit, are you serious?”, “Rudy. You do not want to eat MY brain… trust me”. I think forward to the day. “You better bet your life!” shouts Pete Townshend. “It’s a very good day to die” I like to say. And I exit stage left.