Visual challenges

Following the misty sunset came a rosy dawn, worth rising early for.

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Not that getting up early is unusual these days. First light tends to wake me if Lily’s wails haven’t already got me going. Sometimes she serenades us for much of the night, which is something many aging cats do, in my weary experience, but Lily’s yowl is hard to ignore.

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Physically, she is healthy as far as we can tell. All her life, Lily marched to her own tune, curling up with us when she felt so inclined though mostly aloof, but in her dotage she has become needy and demanding of attention, which we willingly give.

So what if we are sleep-deprived?

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As daylight increased, the colours changed.

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And the mist began to rise again.

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Soon, we could barely see the trees at the bottom of the hill, however like most weather phenomena here, it did not linger.

When moving back to New York and particularly because I would be upstate, I expected occasionally to be home-bound by weather, at least in winter. Just once, during a snowstorm, I opted to cancel an appointment, but that was partly because I didn’t want the practitioner to feel obliged to drive to the clinic on my behalf. This past winter we had to turn back once when the roads were dangerous, but two instances in nearly 8 years is not a lot.

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Writing is difficult at the moment. Have you ever attempted to put together a coherent blog post with a cat in your face? The keyboard is on a lower shelf, however not being able to see the screen is rather a nuisance.

Blackie is perhaps reacting to Lily’s neediness. Lily comes to sit by me during the day and at night sits on top of me while I attempt to read, but being close to me at night has always been Blackie’s privilege, so now she gets closer and has taken to visiting me at my desk as well.

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Cat hair up my nose and in my eyes, trying to hold my book at an angle where I can actually see it, because Lily stands on my middle while Blackie straddles a shoulder, staring into my face and poking me for attention. Eventually, I call it quits and endeavour to settle down to sleep, one cat under my chin, another tucked up tight, on the other side, behind my legs and somehow, I am supposed to persuade my decrepit body to slumber in the space that remains, ignoring pins and needles that soon manifest.

Disturb the cats? I couldn’t possibly!

A delivery van sent Blackie off to hide, so I thought I might make progress here, but now my eyesight has gone wonky which I have learned is the preamble to an ocular migraine attack. Luckily, they only last twenty minutes. Time for tea, perhaps!…

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Now where was I…oh yes, Wednesday…the mist came in thick and fast but dissipated quickly, unveiling a fine day. We intended to spend it at home, but while making his afternoon cup of coffee, Grant realised that there would be no milk for next morning. I suggested that the oat milk I use would be an adequate substitute but he made a face, so we got in the car and went out, something we almost never do in the afternoon.

If we do it again, we must remember that 3 pm on a Wednesday should be avoided! As we drove into the village heading for the wee shop we chatted, causing Grant to overshoot the store – my fault, of course! So we pulled over, turned around and went back.

Cambridge is a tiny village that has a main street intersected by a few cross streets. The store is at an intersection. Often you can drive through without encountering another car. On a busy day, a small handful. But last Wednesday at 3 pm it was as if the circus had come to town and everyone converged on that intersection just as we arrived there. It is regulated by stop signs and everyone was too polite to make the first move.

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This is the sort of thing that seriously annoys the man, but it was such sudden and unusual chaos, all we could do was laugh. It was as if everyone had been in a meeting and was now hurrying home, but unused to such a rush, no-one could decide who had the right of way.

Escaping from the madness of downtown, we shot off to see whether the highland cow might be out, since that was the time of day when Grant saw it.

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Unfortunately there was no clear view, but apparently afternoon is when it occupies this field.

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Along the road the Amish had an inventory of little sheds on display, chicken coops, perhaps. The Amish are very good with woodwork.

Very good at tidying up too. They have taken over a number of rundown properties, cleaned them up and turned them around. I know little about them, but it is obvious they have a good work ethic and they do not clutter the environment with their detritus.

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One day I shall insist on being allowed to wander in this little cemetery.

It calls itself the Old Turnpike Graveyard and dates to the Revolutionary War.

Much of that war took place in these parts.

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