Friday, January 13, 2012

Odd Moments

You know how you can hear a word you don't know, then suddenly everywhere you go, you hear it?  Or discover something new and then see it all over the place?  Or, how come I've never heard about whatever before, but now I've heard about it five times this week?  Then there's that strange thing where you're thinking of someone, and out of the blue you hear from them.  Weird.  What are the odds? 

Here's two...

Very icy, and dense with fog this morning as I walked the dogs.  I'm wearing out on this fog crap, though there is supposed to be a truly bad storm hitting the West this weekend, with wind and snow and later into next week, lots of rain.  If it snows I'm stuck on the mountain, so my plan after walking the boys was to hit the store.  As I'm walking, I'm thinking about that 5-part story I posted last week, and how long it's been since I've heard some of those songs...songs that I love like Desperado, Running on Empty.

At the grocery store, standing in front of the peanut butter--do I want crunchy or creamy?--and what comes wafting overhead from the store's speakers?  Running on Empty.  I cocked my head, closed my eyes, and with a big smile on my face, I murmured along with Jackson as I stood in a grocery aisle filled with peanut butter, my mind lost in a time warp. 

Little snippet of the song...

Everyone I know, everywhere I go
People need some reason to believe
I don't know about anyone but me
If it takes all night, that'll be all right
If I can get you to smile before I leave

Looking out at the road rushing under my wheels
I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels
I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through
Looking into their eyes I see them running too

Running on empty, running blind,
Running into the sun, but I'm running behind

Those words just speak to me, even now.  The lyrics remind me so much of another life, another place.  And how odd that I was just thinking about this very song not an hour earlier. 


Yesterday, I took the dogs to the big county park, just to change things up a bit.  I meant to take my camera, but in the hustle-bustle of getting two insanely excited toddlers dogs into the car, I forgot.   There was only one other person in the entire park, so it was a great, quiet walk for the three of us.  At one point, along the river, the dogs were sniffing and snorting and acting for all they were worth like bloodhounds.  I get bored with standing around freezing, and want to move on.  Finally, I say, "For crying in the night, boys!  It's not like there's a bloody family of raccoons in that tuft of grass!  Let's move it!"  Begrudgingly, they have one more sniff each, then we get back to walking. 

Several minutes and half the circumference of the park later, we're coming down this long grassy slope next to the boat ramp, unused during these long winter months.  And damn.  Up the ramp waddles--I'm not making this up, I swear--a family of raccoons!!  What are the odds?  The papa coon was huge, easily twice the size of Max and Ozzy put together, then came mama, followed by three kids.  They must have been teenagers though because they were not small.  The whole family of five leisurely walked up the ramp to within 15 feet of where I was standing, totally motionless.  The boys were good and didn't move either, an odd miracle in itself.  The dad stopped, raised his head and looked right at me, made a funny growling-type noise--not threatening, more like "step on it kids"--then continued up the ramp and across the parking lot.  When the family reached the dense shrubs at the treeline, the dad held back until everyone had disappeared into the brush.  He rose up on his back legs and looked at me.  I nodded my head at him, he stared for another moment, then slowly dropped to all fours and vanished into the woods.

How odd.  I had just been snarking at the dogs about a family of raccoons. 

And buggers.  Where was my blasted camera?? 

I don't know how he knew I wasn't a threat, that the dogs wouldn't go for him or his family.  Course, he might have been a ninja raccoon dad and would have eaten the boys for a snack without a by-your-leave.  Still.  It was a cool, though odd moment, and surprisingly, the boys just sat and watched the whole thing unfold without any aggro at all.  Odd on top of odd, no doubt.


I'll finish my post with this.  It's not odd--unless it's odd that as humans we don't have more of these moments, no matter how small, to treasure and appreciate in our lives...

I'm looking forward with great pleasure to my weekend.  Especially Sunday.  I'm hoping the prediction for bluster and snow comes true as I'm making a big pot of Irish Stew--a concoction I have perfected over the years to taste like a bowl of pure ambrosia.  It will cook all day, filling the house with contentment and anticipation.  I have a recipe for Kentucky biscuits that just melt in your mouth, and are perfect for soaking up the juicy deliciousness at the bottom of the bowl.  Hold on...wait a minute...I'm drooling...need a tissue.

Okay, I'm back.  So, Irish stew, Kentucky biscuits, and the best part?  One of my most favorite authors has a brand new book--that just came out yesterday--in a mind-blowingly good series.  I plan to settle on the couch, a dog on either side, as (hopefully) the wind howls, the snow blows, the stew cooks, and I fall eagerly into the story. 

Oh my.  Some days life is just good, isn't it??


  1. I'd like to try your Irish stew by virtue of;

    "filling the house with contentment and anticipation"

    Scents like that from a meal are one of the reasons to be alive.

  2. Truly. The warm and homey smell of cookies, fresh out of the oven, childhood memories; spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove, scenting the air like a small cafe in Sorrento, garlic and tomatoes; Irish stew and biscuits, hearty and earthy, filling the soul.

    Ah, the sweet little pleasures in life...