BAND OF ANGELS

If anyone doubts the existence of a Higher Power, I have proof that one exists, and that this HP has a John Cleeseian sense of humour, with me playing the part of Basil Fawlty.
I had intended to swim twice a day on Mondays and Wednesdays, doing the 6-8 a.m. lengths swims that White Oaks offers on those days.
So, despite getting to bed at 2:30 a.m. (it seems that being postmenopausal means God doesn't think women need to sleep much), I dutifully set my alarm for 5:30 a.m. When it made its dreadful noise -- much too soon -- I was still able to get up, don my bathing suit and a T-shirt, and head in the sultry dampness of the early morning to the White Oaks pool.
Lights were on, though no other cars were in the parking lot. "Great," I thought, "I may have the pool to myself for a while."
So, grabbing my swim bag from the trunk and attaching it to my walker, I lurched up the uneven pavement to the door, on which many signs were taped.
It took me several seconds to notice a small one on the right side that read, "White Oaks pool closed Monday, July 19 to Friday, July 23 because of hydro problems."
Curses, Red Baron!!! I read the notice twice, hoping the second time it would say something different.
But no, I had it right the first time, so home I slithered to be greeted by the dogs, who thought it was great that I was up and back so early. And wouldn't it be nice to get Dad up, too, and then snarf some kibble, drink some water, go to the back yard to catch the latest smells and perfom other functions, and then come back inside to the AC and sleep like logs in the living room? Oooh, dog heaven!
However, I decided to go back to bed and catch, or try to catch, a few more hours of sleep.
Purdy, our 11.5-year-old golden, was quite happy to return to lying on the vent to absorb the AC when it clicked on.
Zeke, 2.5 years old and an exuberant black Lab/greyhound mix, was not amused by my choice, nor was he willing to let Dad sleep any more. However, after eating breakfast, he finally gave in, though not before requiring several minutes of patting and stroking on the bed before he would settle and allow us some more sleep.
I finally drifted off but had weird dreams, and I didn't feel rested much when I got up for my regular swim.
By this time, the stirring of people on our court had Zeke growling as he wagged his tail vigorously against the bay window and kept his eyes peeled for any signs of invasion. This got Andy up earlier than I, but he'd gone to bed at a reasonably sensible time.
Too many hours of working late in the sports and news departments at the Globe mean I become more awake as the evening wears on. I'm ready for bed about 8 p.m., but if I do head up, I'm awake just after midnight and that's that -- no more sleep, just lying there restlessly and thinking and worrying about everything in the world.
I sometimes wonder about God's sense of humour, but I guess creating situations to produce maniacal moments of giggling are needed when dealing with humans 24/7. I know I wouldn't want the job.
Bless you all, and thank you for helping to make pink ribbons obsolete by donating to the swim for the cure.

by Debbie Shallhorn King on Mon, Jul 19, 2010 @ 3:28 PM. To pledge, please click on my personal page.