Alone in my bed, I awaken with a start, thinking morning had come. Glancing at my bedside clock, it reads 10:30 p.m. I have been sound asleep for exactly 2 ½ hours. My black Lab, Vimy, lying on the floor at the foot of my bed, raises her head to acknowledge my wide-awake presence, before snuggling back on to the carpet. Was it my need a bathroom visit during the night that jolted me awake? Or was my body telling me to get up and start another day? Thinking it was the former urge, I struggle to my feet and slide past the head of my now alert dog, wary of my nocturnal stumbles. Repetition has conditioned me to know the way along the dimly-lit hallway to the bathroom. Returning soon after, I fall back into bed, not caring that the bed sheet lies curled up in a ball on the floor at my feet. I yank the comforter over me and lie there, unable to sleep. I opt to review my day’s routines.
The day had been all right, if a little lonely. I did briefly entertain a sinking feeling that I was just filling in time, that I was living on the periphery of what once was a busy, fulfilling, purposeful life. I wasn’t of much value to anybody, except as a consumer of goods and medical services. Close friends had either died, or moved farther away from my home base. I miss them. Family members are caring, but, as I once was, busy with their own lives. The stark reality dawned on me that nobody really needs me, except my dog, Vimy, who is completely dependent on me. After concluding that my ordinary situation and daily routines are not too different from others in my age group, and much better than many, since I enjoy robust health, I push aside negative thoughts and begin to reflect on the day that had just ended.
As my 5:30 a.m. morning dawned, with no evidence of daylight because it is late October, I dress in my old clothes, scattered about on the floor beside my bed the previous night. Carefully and slowly I descend the staircase, very mindful of my arthritic ankles that occasionally object to this form of exercise. After retrieving my favourite newspaper from the front porch, I make coffee, and sit down to scan the pages and become absorbed in articles of interest. When finished I tackle the crossword puzzle, somewhat unsuccessfully, and read my horoscope as I finish my second cup and munch on two small muffins.
Continuing my early morning ritual, I am ever mindful that my wildlife awaits me. I feed my platoon of lively squirrels several hands full of peanuts just outside my sunroom on my back porch. If I should forget, they stand on their hind legs, peering through the patio door to inquire about the delay. What a delight to watch them expertly shell and devour their favourite food while perched on the railing, or see them swiftly scamper across the top of my wooden fence to store the excess elsewhere, for leaner times. Competition is supplied by 6 or 8 blue jays that dive bomb the porch to snatch peanuts in their beaks and zoom high up into a nearby tree to have breakfast. Flocks of tiny sparrows, as if alerted by a silent signal from somewhere in the sky, crowd my bird feeders near the shrubbery as daylight appears, to eat seed and take quick, frantic baths. Some pause to drink contentedly from the rim of the bird bath before fluttering away to make room for others.
