Hope is the thing with feathers

This morning was one of those days that it was hard to get up. It was really dark, and it was pouring. I hadn’t slept much last night, it was well after 3 when I finally fell asleep, I was up at 5, and again around 7:30. I had finally gone back to sleep but my body knew it was getting late. The pugs were waking up and getting restless. I have been using a sleep mask because it was recommended to black out the room and help me sleep and it does help some but not last night. I finally took off the sleep mask and looked at the clock. It was 10 to 10. I couldn’t believe it. We got up and started our day.

I don’t know about your dogs but when I opened the door in the studio out onto the deck — it was pouring — the pugs looked at me with a “Surely you jest.” look on their faces. I sighed and went into the kitchen to get their breakfast and Pugsley’s medication. I made coffee while they ate. We came back into the studio and I sat here, not depressed, but quiet. It was so dark. It was raining so hard. And then I heard it. On the darkest day in some time, with the rain coming down hard, somewhere just outside these windows a bird was singing. It was like a miracle. My heart lifted. It reminded me of one of my favorite quotes, by Camus, “In the midst of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.” On the hardest days I survive. And on this dark rainy day the bird did sing.

I sat here sipping coffee and I texted my dear friend and my daughter. They both texted me back. It made me feel less alone. My little pugs snuggled close and went back to sleep. Their snoring made me smile. I read comments that dear readers had left after yesterday’s blog post, amazing comments, they mean so much, and I answered them. And, while I searched for just the right picture to go with today’s blog post, I listened to several episodes of my favorite podcast that I listen to 5 mornings a week. “Murmurs of Mole,” by Miranda Morrison. I have listened to Miranda each morning these last few years and I love her dearly. Her podcasts sooth my soul. Finally there was a break in the rain and I got the pugs out to the potty. We’d just enough time for them to go and the rain started in again. I was so relieved to have gotten them out.

At noon I called my dear friend Jeff to check on him. He’s been going through a rough time. We talked for over 2 hours. While we talked I made scrambled eggs with a bit of cheese and crumbled bacon. We talked about everything under the sun. He is like a brother to me, he knows me better than anyone else on the face of this earth, he knows me in almost an eery way because if I am not okay the phone will ring and it will be him. “What’s wrong?” he will ask, and I am the same way with him. I believe we have been connected through lifetimes. I shared bits of the scrambled eggs with Pugsley and Delilah while Jeff and I talked. They have gone back to sleep under my big table here, the huge, over-sized, old pine Farmer’s Table.

My whole world is on this table. This is where I live. Books and notebooks and so many jars of pens and paintbrushes, art supplies, my vitamins, essential oils, and whatnots I can’t count them all. Every element of my life is right here and there are 3 dog beds under the table, around my feet. I sit here and my babies are right here with me. Often Delilah doesn’t even go in one of the beds. She crawls in under the quilt that is over my lap and nestles in by my feet. She is as close to me as she can get. These babies are part of me. We are settling into the reality that it is just the 3 of us now. It still feels wrong that Tanner isn’t here but we are adjusting, as one finally does, to his absence. I don’t cry much anymore, I just feel sad, and kind of lost. I sleep at night with a hand on each Pugsley and Delilah and I pray to God and the angels that these babies will be with me for some time to come. Many people have dogs and love them dearly but they go to work, have big lives in the outside world, go places and do things. I wake up with my dogs, they are part of nearly every move I make all day long, we nap together, sleep together at night, we are all of a piece. The loss of one was brutal, to lose either of the others at this point I could not bear. Oh God please let my babies live a nice long while with me. Please.

As I write this blog post the rain has let up. It is not sunny but it is lighter and the rain seems to have stopped for now but in the weather forecast it said “Chance of rain 100%” for today. It will rain more. I will get the little ones out again before it does, and hope that I can get them out before bed tonight.

Last night was so odd. I’ve been sleeping better at night the last few nights without taking anything, just using the sleep mask and listening to the news on my phone until I am falling asleep listening. Last night it was different. I turned off the news as I was falling asleep and then instantly woke up. I tried desperately to go to sleep. I turned the news back on hoping it would put me to sleep but it was an irritant. I checked my phone to see the comments here for yesterday’s post and was deeply touched by the last couple of comments that I hadn’t been able to answer before going to bed but in the middle of the night I was too tired to answer them. I don’t know what I was doing when sometime past 3 I finally fell asleep. I am hoping that tonight is a better night.

I am watching a squirrel leap through the air and land flashing his tail across from the feeders. The birds are singing again. I think I will read for awhile. I’m happy that I have begun reading again and take time away from the computer each afternoon to read and rest a little with the pugs. I will be 64 in 6 days, I am wondering where the years have gone? I can’t seem to stop nibbling the skin off my top lip. It worries me. The grey sky is closing in again but the birds are still singing, they keep singing, just like one of my favorite poems by Emily Dickinson…

“Hope is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all …”

The bird is singing, it does not stop. It fills me with hope on this grey day. Life goes on.