TheBanyanTree: My Blanket of Solace

[Monique Colver]

This is what happens when someone wakes me up at 3 in the morning, wanting
to go outside. The blog, which will have a new post EVERY DAY for a year
(that's the plan, and rather ambitious of me, if I do say so myself) can be
found at

http://tiny.cc/MoniquesBlog


My Blanket of Solace

It's green the way poorly lit hospital corridors are green, and it has holes
in it from when Ash, in his enthusiasm, used it as a toy. Some people, at
3:39 am, would put on a robe, or wander around in their jammies, but I wrap
my blanket of solace around me, despite the fact that thus attired, my
ability to do any strenuous activity has been severely limited. Or perhaps
that's the whole point.

My Dog of Darkness

He lays next to me on the couch, sound asleep, his head barely resting on
the blanket of solace. This is slightly inconvenient for me if I'm using my
laptop, which I must be, but he's so quiet that I don't really care. Last
night, when he jumped into bed with a stuffed animal in his mouth and began
swinging it about, smacking me in the head, I called him the Prince of
Darkness, but he doesn't really care. He's just really happy being a dog.

My Dog of Light

At this time of night, or early morning, she's outside, and doesn't want to
return. Years ago I promised her a yard of her very own, and now that she
has it, she's loathe to leave it. It's very unusual for the dogs to not
sleep through the night inside, in our bedroom, but this night they decided
they needed to be up and out, and this is why I'm sitting here in my blanket
of solace, the Prince of Darkness at my side and my Dog of Light outside.

The Price of Laughter

One of my Facebook friends posted several hours ago that he heard laughter
last night, and was amazed. "People laugh? Awesome!" he said, and I felt
really sad for him. He's obviously not hanging around the right sort of
people. How can people not laugh? A friend and I got together last night for
dinner and a writer's meeting. In the car we laughed uproariously about my
wet pants, in the restaurant we laughed about a variety of things, and on
the way home we laughed about . . . sometimes all I remember is the
laughter. Laughter's free, if you were wondering.

My Pants Are Wet

I've discovered an excuse akin to "I must wash my hair" for escaping from
social obligations. When my friend IM'd me yesterday to ask if I was driving
over to her side of the river for the festivities I responded with, "Sure,
but I just noticed my jeans are still in the washer and I have to dry them."
She read it as, "No, I can't come because my pants are wet," and thought,
"that's a hell of a lousy excuse." Fortunately we straightened that out
before she had a chance to hurt me. Not that she would, but she has the
ability, whereas I have only the ability to fling about mere words. Try
using your words when an accomplished martial artist is coming at you with a
weapon. This is not to be construed as a challenge.

Disemboweled Bunnies

I was actually quite fond of the bunny. Ash kept it for quite a long time,
carrying it around here and there, jumping up on the bed with it and falling
asleep with it. He never tried to take It outside, fortunately, because once
a toy enters that mysterious zone known as the back yard, it lives there for
the rest of its life. The bunny, like the groundhog and the elephant and
dinosaur (at least I think it's supposed to be a dinosaur), led a charmed
life for quite awhile. But all good things must come to an end, and the
other day Ash decided to investigate the bunny's innards. I walked into the
living room and found bunny innards everywhere. Bunny intestines strewn
about here, bunny organs laying there, all disguised as soft white cotton
stuffing, and the outside of the bunny limp and bedraggled, a sad testament
to the will of one determined Prince of Darkness.

Providing Perspective

My younger by 10 years half-sister has just informed me (really, just a
minute ago) that I have given her a brand new perspective on the birthday
issue. I had wished her happy birthday by email, and she had responded that
at her age, she tries to ignore her birthdays. I had responded that at my
age, I take every chance I can to demand attention and presents and cake,
and so birthdays are a good thing. She thanked me, and is now looking
forward to her next birthday. It's all in how you look at it, right?


-- 
Monique Colver