Mornings

I love mornings.  Mornings are "my" time, a time when I'm most productive.  Sometimes, when I wake up really early, say anytime near 4:00 a.m., I feel like I just got a secret bonus.  A time when I have energy and can do anything I want.  A time unconstrained by the confines of work, people, expectations.  In the early morning anything is possible, the day seems unending and filled with potential.  I don't see things from the perspective of what I don't have time, desire or energy to accomplish.    Conversely, by early afternoon my day usually seems over-full and discouragingly finite.

Mornings are a joy for reasons beyond productivity, however.  Mornings are filled with the waking of the world around me.  They are when my dogs are the most filled with sleepy, smiley affection.  In the morning my farmyard gradually builds into a cacophony of birdsong, including the ever present crowing of my roosters.  In summer, mornings are when my morning glories are open, turning every fence line into a kaleidoscope of pinks and purples.  And the air...in Spring, Summer and Fall, the air in the early mornings takes on the most enchanting freshness, smells as rich and wild as a prairie.
I love mornings.

Bella the Wonder Dog

About 6 years ago, as a gift to myself for getting my Master's degree, I bought a darling little Norwegian Elkhound puppy, who told me her name was Bella.  Within a few months, we lost our cherished Gerda, a Norwegian Elkhound I'd had for 14 years.  I was crushed by Gerda's death, and resolved to just simply love and enjoy Bella, because (as all of us who are utterly entranced by our dogs know) I knew that her little candle would burn altogether too fast.  As a result, she's always been utterly convinced that she's the most lovable, amazing dog in the universe.  And she is.  Add to that, probably the most photogenic.

Impending Blizzard

 It's supposed to snow again.  We are slated to get two back to back snowstorms, beginning tonight and ending sometime Wednesday.  My body knew: joints I barely remember having commence to hurting when these fronts move in.  Plus, there's an uneasiness in the air.  It's pretty enough out right now, but you can feel something coming.  March blizzards, in my memory of Nebraska, are our worst.  I don't know if that's because they are powerful, wet and heavy; or if it's because by March we are so very tired of winter.
Mom and I went to Sam's club today to stock up on groceries.  Silly really, both our households have so much food stored we have a hard time figuring out where to put new acquisitions, but there's something about blizzards.  To be fair, we used to live further out in the country, on roads that were the maintainer's lowest priority, so there really was a time when stocking up was necessary.  At 6 miles outside of town and on a mail route to boot, well, it just isn't quite as critical.  But you can't ever get those memories out of your head:  Stuck, won't be able to get to town for at least a week, often the power went out too so you're glad you've got a wood-stove and outdoor toilet.

So here's to living in Nebraska.  At least it's miserable enough to keep the riff-raff out.