The Clock is Ticking

Here's a little sampling of how my mind works at 2 in the morning. Remember, it's 2 in the morning, no one is at his best then, right?

A little before 2, I woke up from a dead sleep. Something had just whined in my ear. You know that half-awake reasoning mode a person goes into. "Well, what could have just whined in my ear? A mosquito? An elephant? Was it just a dream?" Then I switched to the taking inventory of the room mode, with my eyes still closed mind you. "Hmm..all my limbs seem to still be in the bed, pillow under my head, still have all the blankets. WonderDog next to my knee...no wait...he's not next to me. Hmm..."

I rolled over a little and realized that my nose had just run into something furry. Now, understand, I'm afraid of the dark. I do, in fact, have lights on in my house all night. (Not the main lights in a room, but small nightlights). So, to wake up to a strange noise in my ear and realize something furry is on my pillow with me.....Houston, we have a problem!

Cautiously, I reach up to touch whatever it is on my pillow. Whew! WonderDog! That's a relief, seriously. I open my eyes and we're eyeball to eyeball, and I can tell he's distressed. I start murmuring comforting words and cooing at him when he suddenly cuts his eyes toward the closet. (Yes, I know, I'm anthropomorphizing him. Deal with it.) So, I look over there.

The door's open. This is...well let's just say there will be no sleep until the damn thing is closed. But here's the deal, I closed it before I got in bed. I always do. It's my little ritual--walk the house, check the locks, open and shut the closet door. I never falter in this.

Soooo......why's it open? Let's see, the door's open, the WonderDog has plastered himself to my head, and is under some sort of distress that I'm guessing, at this hour, has nothing to do with the corned beef hash I let him taste after I had my dinner. (Ok..it could be the hash, but he's little and frankly, I'd have been gassed out of the room LOOOOONG before the two o'clock hour if it was the hash.)

By this time, I'm awake and now, rather than turn on a light and close the door, my mind is racing through the possible reasons for it's open state.

My mind flits to the old wives' tale about cats not being allowed in a baby's room because they'll steal the baby's breath. I glance at WonderDog, "Is that why you're on my pillow? To steal my breath?" Whine....I'm guessing that means "no."

I lay there pondering for a few seconds, and my mine wanders over to a faint memory of a set of Stephen King short stories made into short movies. Wish I could remember what they are. Three of them packaged together, one of them is about a cat who protects the human child in her family from a troll who tries to steal her breath.

Do you see where this is heading??

The troll, as I recall from the movie, would show up after the little girl was asleep, bedroom door closed, and the cat (THANK GOD) had snuck in without the parents knowing. There was a creak of the bedroom door and then scampering across the floor, where the troll would climb into bed and start to suck the breath right out of the child. The cat would leaps onto the bed and a terrific fight ensues. Takes a little time for the cat to not only kill the troll, but be lauded as a hero by the family.

For the record, I do not own a cat. But I am terrified of the dark. So much so that I don't sleep on one side of my queen-size bed, I sleep in the middle. My rational mind understands that there is nothing under my bed. But you never know.

So, from 2:15ish (when I make this connection) to 4:00ish, I'm lying in bed watching the closet door. And listening for scamper sounds on the wood floor. And wondering why in the hell the WonderDog has dozed back off, leaving me utterly unprotected. I am not, even for a minute, sleeping. 

I finally give in. I need to sleep, but I won't sleep with that door open. I sit up, get a grumble from the WonderDog. Apparently, I am now disturbing his sleep. When did I cease to be the alpha in my own house?
"Little dog, if I should die, think only this of me....I will haunt your ass and then show the trolls where to find you."

As the alarm goes off and I reach for the bedside lamp, the WonderDog wakes up a stretches, big yawns. Then wanders over to give me a good morning kiss. As if nothing in the world has happened. Really? REALLY? Glad someone got to sleep last night.


To see a few more ramblings, visit Carry on Tuesday and Sunday Scribblings.

I'm not understanding something that's happening when I go to bed lately.

I fall asleep, on my back, small dog (The WonderDog!) curled up next to my right leg. I'm on the left side of the bed. He's snuggled in between the quilt and the flat sheet.

By morning, he's in the same place. Nearly exactly. I'm on the right side of the bed, on my back.

I know I'm not rolling over him, and unless there's a really good reason, he sleeps through the night.

I went to see "Nights in Rodanthe" yesterday. I'd completely forgotten that it was based on Nicholas Sparks's book of the same name. Had I remembered, I would also have gone to Wal-Mart to pick up a box of tissues prior to the movie. Yes, ladies, it will make you cry. Big boo-hoo tears, too.

Duh, it's a Sparks movie. *wink*

Anyway, at one point, Adrienne (Diane Lane) and Paul (Richard Gere) are looking this driftwood box that she'd made years before. The local lore says that you build this box and put things that are most important to you in your life. They get around to the idea that these things are the things that save you. And he asks her, "What saves you?"

(Now that I think about it, I may have misunderstood what he said, but the point is still the same.)

What saves you?

The obvious answer here, for someone like me, is Christ. Right? And no, I don't mean to belittle the idea that my faith in Christ is what drives me and fills me. Because it absolutely does.

But, that's not all. I think where I'm going with this is that what saves me, what really really does it for me in ways that I can name, is where I see Christ in my world everyday. Only, I don't think I've ever said it that way before.

What saves me? In no particular order, other than this is how I can best put words to it.

Music. Music is such a huge part of my world. I don't know how to function in silence. Power outtages? Thank God for my iPod. You know the old question, if you had to lose one of your five senses, which one would you choose? Sight. No question. I can get by not seeing the people and places that I love. I could live without seeing the beauty around me. But I couldn't bear the thought of not hearing music, or the birds, or the voices of my loved ones. Not a one. I guess, really, what I mean is sound, more than music. But, when all else is silent, I plug into my music and escape.

My family. For all the times I've wanted to scream at them (and I know that makes me no different than anyone else.), I know that in the end, I'd be lost without them. Moms and daughters are supposed to clash a bit, I really do believe that. (And I fear families in which that doesn't happen.) Brothers and sisters aren't supposed to be perfect angels together when growing up (again with the fear). And Daddies are supposed to risk it all for their little girls when they're being stupid. And you know what, that's how my family is. I don't know how we got here, because I'm certain the dynamic that the 4 of us have is nothing like how my parents grew up in their childhood homes. And sometimes, I wish we could go back to our little foursome in the house across town.

The WonderDog. I know this is probably silly-sounding to an outsider. But, I got WD during a time in my life that was dark. I was very low, I was alone in that way that only the isolated feel. I'd wanted to get a dog when I first moved out of my parents' house, but decided to wait until I finished my grad school, so that I would be home to be with a dog. I finished my graduate work in August. In October, someone at work said his dog was going to have an unplanned litter puppies at the end of the month, half yorkie/half schnauzer. (Imagine, WD's parents were papered pure breds. Oh the horror! Oh the shame!) I told him to keep me in mind, I might want one of the pups. Turns out WD was the runt, and the only boy in the litter. He's also the cutest one in the whole bunch. He healed my wounded heart and mind. Four years later, he's my favorite little buddy.

So...what saves you?

Please excuse my crappy video skills. This was taken on Phoebe, my cell phone.

Thirteen Things about The WonderDog



1. When I picked him up at 5 and a half weeks old, he weighed only 12.5 ounces. (He was 8 pounds now).

2. For Christmas that year (when he was 6 and half weeks old), my brother and I had pictures made for our parents' gift. I took some by myself with WonderDog.

3. His mom is a salt-and-pepper miniature schnauzer and his dad's a yorkie. Both are registered.

4. He has 9 older sisters (5 in one litter and 4 in his).

5. He's the cutest of all 10 puppies. Seriously. That's not just his mom talking.

6. He skips when he's in a good mood. It's way too cute.

7. The yellow chair in my bedroom? Yeah, it's his. Not mine. I'm not allowed to sit in it.

8. He gets so excited about getting a treat that he crows.

9. He has no use for dogs. By that, I mean, he doesn't like dogs. He doesn't count, because he's not one.

10. Somehow, he always knows when I want to take a picture of him. He'll stop whatever cute thing he's doing that I wanted to capture and pose for the camera. Everytime.

11. He loves limeades from Sonic.

12. He knows no strangers. He might not like you a lot, but he'll fake it for a few minutes.

13. He can identify each one of his toys by the name I gave them. And he'll grab the right one everytime you send him after one.


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I think I wore him out. He hasn't moved in 3 hours.

He's been sitting there with the blank stares for 20 minutes. Hasn't moved a muscle.

Promised pics of the WonderDog. My poor rough and tumble little boy is now a showdog.

So, this morning I dropped The WonderDog at the new groomer's shop. The old one is harder to get into than MY hairdresser, and I schedule those appointments 2 months in advance.

I guess I wasn't completely awake when I dropped him off. When I said something about a schnauzer mustache (he's part schnauzer), I guess I wound up agreeing to an all out schnauzer cut.

Yep, extra short on top, longish on bottom. BIG eyebrows. Oh my. I'll add pics to this later. I've never seen him look so funny.

And now he's beat. Apparently, when he spends all day away from me, he doesn't go to the bathroom or rest. Our usual 10 minute walk took half an hour and after zipping about the house for 5 minutes, he's out like a light.

And he looks funny.