Wrinkly Bits
A Blog by Gail Cushman
Cowboy and I were gone for 40 days and 40 nights, which sounds something out of the Bible. and now we are home at our little cottage in Montana, where we can gaze at the Beartooth Mountains, the Yellowstone River, and hug Cody, who was also gone for 40 days and nights, but has yet to forgive us. Lucky for him, he has Carla, a super dog watcher, and he can con her into all kinds of treats and tricks, so we play second fiddle (or maybe third) to her kindness.
The Good part of being home is “We are Home.” Home looks good to us, no matter where we live. Winter was kind to Montanans this year. Mother Nature got confused and sent the freezing, snowy and icy weather to the east coast, just to remind easterners they don’t want to live in Montana. and it reminded us that the snowy, icy days are part of our lives and we missed those below-zero, blizzard days. I had never seen daffodils and crocus in February, but now I can truly say, I’ve seen everything.
Coming home is just that, HOME. It’s where we belong. It is who we are. It is our routine, the day-to-day events that don’t mean anything, yet mean everything. Waving to the neighbors as we pass them. Welcoming the osprey who have returned home to lay eggs for their chicks. One of my favorite things is our Saturday morning visit to the dump, leaving off the Amazon boxes that accumulate through the week. I get to trade “good mornings” with the Dump Master and Cody gets a treat. What could be better? Today, we watched a storm mature and shimmy across the sky, along with a small airplane staying below the storm and avoiding the lightening. It’s home.
Home also means a warm bed, comfortable mattress, no seam down the middle. Yikes! Cowboy, the window is open! Oh yeah, it is Montana and Cowboy needs his fresh air, but they wouldn’t let him open the door on the ship. It was something about storms and water, so, he compensated by turning the air conditioning on full cold every night. Well, I do like fresh Montana air, and snuggling in the cold is pretty nice under the down comforters.
The Bad part of being home is “We are Home.” We both love the ocean, and miss the morning ritual of saying “Good morning,” to the blue water speckled with small whitecaps and whatever sea creatures happen to swim by. This trip showed us a plethora of wild life and I’m sure they will miss us, too. Our house somehow survived without us and nothing is awry. I recently bought a watch, which disappeared on the trip, but most days I don’t worry about the time anyway. Turning 80 gives me privileges, like being late and not knowing where I am most days (I call it directionally challenged, but others have less kind words, like muddled.)
The Ugly part of being home is that I brought unwelcome stowaway home with me, a cold or something that is dragging me down. Ugh. So, I’m trying to figure out which cough syrup/cold medicine/cough drops work. Should I go to the doc or forget about it? Forget about it, I say it’s part of life. This too shall pass.
