Stretchy McLonglegs and the Rain Storm

It's been a blustery day, full of blue-gray clouds and ferocious winds. We've sat here for hours dozing in a big comfy chair and listening to the wind howl across the roof and make the walls groan. It is a day of slugdom. One of doing not much of anything. One of being lazy.

About the most strenuous thing we've done today is read our blogroll. We even did a little blog mining just to see what was around. But even that had a Stretchy McLonglegs quality to it - part stretch, part slack-jawed effort, mostly yawn. Earth first - we'll blog the other planets later.

This is a day of boredom where boredom actually feels good. If we don't feel like doing something, we simply don't - except for the blogging. We've always got to do the blogging. It is a chore. It is a curse. And, it is very important. Not to blog is not to speak and we can't bear the thought of that. Letters spilling all over the screen. They're making a terrible mess. I may have to clean them up, turn them into a post.

Earlier today we spent awhile just looking out the back door. It looks out over San Francisco Bay. Big squalls kept scudding by, turning the sky white with rain. They made no sound but for the wind they tagged behind. The water was a flat, light brown, not even appearing churned at this distance. The twin peaks of Los Gatos - the cats - disappeared and reappeared in the distant clouds. The dusting of snow that came to the higher peaks late in the week has been washed away and their slopes are once again as felt-green as a rumpled pool table.

Things fly by in the wind. A gull, but no small birds or large ones either. Just the occasional gull and bit of lightweight flotsam on the howling breeze. The gulls are always around, literally too stupid to get in out of the rain or maybe brilliant out searching for food while the store is empty. Can't be much garbage to root through today though. Too windy. It would all blow away.

Occasionally, the wind stops. Sudden. Silent. A deep, deep breath held tight inside the belly of the sky. Just as suddenly it whooshes out and the sky gasps for a long needed breath. Then, it blows and blows until it stops again, playing a gigantic version of the kid's game where you hold your breath as you cross a bridge. A damned big bridge.

We attempted watching television once today. It was an ill-advised thing to do. It had been parked on a news channel last night. When we turned it on this morning, the screen filled with giant talking heads and screeches from deep in the bowels of some terrible beast. The voices made no sense, even as they drowned out each other and the howling wind. We immediately grabbed for the remote to turn it off, but not before the big heads' voices leapt from the speakers and seared our brain. It was a terrible way to begin a television viewing. So terrible, we gave up on it. That was surely the better-advised move.

The Poochbah is closer than usual today, a little clingy, a little needy. She's not afraid of the weather, but she needs some comforting for something that only dogs can hear. A scratch behind the ear. A triangular little shred of ear, covered in soft fur, but filled with twisted cartilage and betraying her shar-pei roots. She loves a scratch there. She leans into our hand and her head moves up and down with the motion. Her thick lips swaying slightly and her eyes narrowing into unmistakable Asian slits. The ends of her lips draw up into a contented smile. No worries about the wind and the rain. Just grooving on the feel of the sublime scratch on the ear. Instant and reliable joy.

We could go on forever with this post, but we can't because real life intrudes. It always intrudes. It demands GO TO WORK! or FIX DINNER! or CLEAN THE HOUSE. It's screaming to us now, so we must go. Quietly. Lazily. Creeping out on little cat feet.

Stay warm and dry my friends. This storm looks like a doozy.

Truth Told by Omnipotent Poobah, Sunday, March 05, 2006