6am and I'm sitting in
an easy chair in the living room of my daughter's house watching a little
Yorkie circle the island in her kitchen.
Around and around she goes, for no apparent reason, and just as she did yesterday. 8, 10, 12 circuits. One of the most curious things I've seen; if not in my lifetime, at least in the first few months of the new year. And now, she's standing by the closed door of Kimberly's bedroom and barking her "little head off." She wants in. Suddenly, the door opens and the little tyke casually strolls in, only to appear again a few moments later; having found her way out of the bedroom through another portal. The circuitous movements around the kitchen island resume.
My son, Steve and I are on the downward slope of our quest to visit two of my daughters who happen to live in the only southern states above the Mason-Dixon line. At least, if you ask the average man on the street, (and I have) West Virginians and Kentuckians will immediately claim allegiance to the Confederate cause. I mean, you can see the Stars and Bars of the old battle flag fluttering in the wind in front of mobile homes, and pasted on the back bumpers of twenty year old pickup trucks here.
I have previously written about my sleep schedule, (or the lack thereof) since my tendency to slumber more than 4-5 hours a day, and divided into multiple segments, at that, can hardly be classified as a schedule. I've been up for a couple of hours having first resorted to my car to listen to the Elvis channel prior to stepping back into the house to watch a confused pooch wander in circles around a kitchen island.
Around and around she goes, for no apparent reason, and just as she did yesterday. 8, 10, 12 circuits. One of the most curious things I've seen; if not in my lifetime, at least in the first few months of the new year. And now, she's standing by the closed door of Kimberly's bedroom and barking her "little head off." She wants in. Suddenly, the door opens and the little tyke casually strolls in, only to appear again a few moments later; having found her way out of the bedroom through another portal. The circuitous movements around the kitchen island resume.
My son, Steve and I are on the downward slope of our quest to visit two of my daughters who happen to live in the only southern states above the Mason-Dixon line. At least, if you ask the average man on the street, (and I have) West Virginians and Kentuckians will immediately claim allegiance to the Confederate cause. I mean, you can see the Stars and Bars of the old battle flag fluttering in the wind in front of mobile homes, and pasted on the back bumpers of twenty year old pickup trucks here.
I have previously written about my sleep schedule, (or the lack thereof) since my tendency to slumber more than 4-5 hours a day, and divided into multiple segments, at that, can hardly be classified as a schedule. I've been up for a couple of hours having first resorted to my car to listen to the Elvis channel prior to stepping back into the house to watch a confused pooch wander in circles around a kitchen island.
Pt. 2
And speaking of the
Elvis channel, even at home I have been known to awake from an hour nap
commencing at 2am, folded the footrest of my easy chair to floor level, opened
the kitchen door leading to my garage, and backed my 2015 Nissan Altima into
the driveway. And having done so, I have immediately punched in Channel 19 and
partaken of their primary DJ, George Klein, and interviews with such ancient
Elvis periferals as Scotty Moore and Sandy Martindale; not to mention the hit
songs of the late great king of rock n' roll.
And as I previously inferred, I just walked in from having done what I have done so many times before. Interesting, that as I sat in the driver's seat of my car and listened to a few of Elvis' musical renditions old George (and he IS old) spun one of the songs which graced Side B of one of the king's early recordings.
"Blue Moon in Kentucky"
Interesting, to me at least, since as I write these words I am visiting one of my daughters in Kentucky. Of course, Elvis was also known for another of my favorites. "Old Kentucky Rain." I admit it. While I have been a fan of Elvis for decades, it has taken me a very long time to appreciate that which has been referred to as "rockabilly" music. And to be sure, I think Elvis is the only medium by which such a metamorphosis, on my part, would have been possible.
But as I sat in the driver's seat of my 2015 Nissan Altima and listened to the strains of "Blue Moon in Kentucky" I reflected on the immediate Kentucky landscape surrounding me, and the events of the past couple of days.
And as I previously inferred, I just walked in from having done what I have done so many times before. Interesting, that as I sat in the driver's seat of my car and listened to a few of Elvis' musical renditions old George (and he IS old) spun one of the songs which graced Side B of one of the king's early recordings.
"Blue Moon in Kentucky"
Interesting, to me at least, since as I write these words I am visiting one of my daughters in Kentucky. Of course, Elvis was also known for another of my favorites. "Old Kentucky Rain." I admit it. While I have been a fan of Elvis for decades, it has taken me a very long time to appreciate that which has been referred to as "rockabilly" music. And to be sure, I think Elvis is the only medium by which such a metamorphosis, on my part, would have been possible.
But as I sat in the driver's seat of my 2015 Nissan Altima and listened to the strains of "Blue Moon in Kentucky" I reflected on the immediate Kentucky landscape surrounding me, and the events of the past couple of days.
Pt. 3
As I walked out into the
front yard of the rural hilltop home of my Kentucky daughter, and absorbed the
music of the king of rock n' roll I reflected on our all too short, but all too
satisfying visit in the only two 'southern' states in northern segment of our
nation. Southern by tradition and profession, if not by location.
Everybody and his brother were here yesterday. The children. The children's children. And the children's children's children. Well, to be accurate, the children's children's child. My great grandson. (Is such a thing even possible? Where did time go)? But believe me, it went.
I just had to have pictures.
I mean, it's not every day one has the opportunity to be in the same locality as three other generations of one's family. Not the least of which reason is the thousand miles which lies between us.
Then there was my grandsons' ad-lib stage performance on their ad-lib stage. You see, smack-dab against the front wall of my daughter's living room is a rectangular limestone floor which my son-in-law so ingeniously constructed. And up against said wall is an old potbelly stove; (designed more for heat than for its original purpose).
And it is upon this 'stage' that Liam and Isaac so often perform before a couple of easy chairs upon which sit the alternating members of their audience.
This morning I was lucky enough to be included in that limited audience of two as my grandsons mounted the stage.
The ever vivacious Isaac smiles and asks,
"Can anybody tell me what my favorite drink is?"
And with his question comes my immediate response,
"Sprite."
(It helps that the beaming second grader is holding a green and yellow can bearing that label).
And with this, Liam trades places with his younger brother, and the performance continues.
"Do you know what I plan to do when I grow up?"
And before I can answer, he exclaims,
"I'm gonna entertain sad people on the street."
Speaking of 'sad' my son and I are headed home tomorrow. And I am all too aware of the passing of time, and the changes which are inherent with this variable.
No doubt, it will be a Blue Moon in Kentucky before I am presented with the opportunity to once again create such singular memories as these.
William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 52. Copyright Pending.
If you wish to share, copy or 'save', please include the credit line, above
********
Due to a design flaw on this blogsite, if you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015 & 2016, you will need to do the following:
Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blogs will come up in the right margin.
Click on 2016 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "Children of a Lesser God" appears, click on the title. All my 2016 blogs will come up in the right margin.
Everybody and his brother were here yesterday. The children. The children's children. And the children's children's children. Well, to be accurate, the children's children's child. My great grandson. (Is such a thing even possible? Where did time go)? But believe me, it went.
I just had to have pictures.
I mean, it's not every day one has the opportunity to be in the same locality as three other generations of one's family. Not the least of which reason is the thousand miles which lies between us.
Then there was my grandsons' ad-lib stage performance on their ad-lib stage. You see, smack-dab against the front wall of my daughter's living room is a rectangular limestone floor which my son-in-law so ingeniously constructed. And up against said wall is an old potbelly stove; (designed more for heat than for its original purpose).
And it is upon this 'stage' that Liam and Isaac so often perform before a couple of easy chairs upon which sit the alternating members of their audience.
This morning I was lucky enough to be included in that limited audience of two as my grandsons mounted the stage.
The ever vivacious Isaac smiles and asks,
"Can anybody tell me what my favorite drink is?"
And with his question comes my immediate response,
"Sprite."
(It helps that the beaming second grader is holding a green and yellow can bearing that label).
And with this, Liam trades places with his younger brother, and the performance continues.
"Do you know what I plan to do when I grow up?"
And before I can answer, he exclaims,
"I'm gonna entertain sad people on the street."
Speaking of 'sad' my son and I are headed home tomorrow. And I am all too aware of the passing of time, and the changes which are inherent with this variable.
No doubt, it will be a Blue Moon in Kentucky before I am presented with the opportunity to once again create such singular memories as these.
William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary, Vol. 52. Copyright Pending.
If you wish to share, copy or 'save', please include the credit line, above
********
Due to a design flaw on this blogsite, if you would like to see the titles and access hundreds of my blogs from 2015 & 2016, you will need to do the following:
Click on 2015 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "The Shot Must Choose You" appears, click on the title. All my 2015 blogs will come up in the right margin.
Click on 2016 in the index to the right of this blog. When my December 31st blog, "Children of a Lesser God" appears, click on the title. All my 2016 blogs will come up in the right margin.
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