catching up

 I'm sorry, I have been way remiss.  I've been meaning to respond to Beagles for sometime now, but have run into several time-consuming crises lately.  Having one's rug cleaned would seem to be no big deal, but when it comes to an old guy moving his crap around AND disentangling (and re-entangling) the gordian knot of cables and wires and cords that power the tv and computer of my Control Center, it becomes a big deal.  It becomes an even bigger deal when in the course of the event the big table that holds all my art crap loses a leg and I have to order from photos on Amazon and then they are not as advertised, and I have to look up how-tos on YouTube led by jagoffs who think their comedic stylings are more important than what connects to what, well that takes a lot out of an old guy.

And then there was the Eggstravaganza, and Easter, and adopting new cats who then hide out in my nooks and crannies so that I think they must have snuck out somehow and that leads to slipping notes under my neighbor's doors, and much trauma.

But just to let you know it all turned out fine, and yes, those are the sisters of those paintings that the usually taciturn Old Dog has admired.

I am often struck by the difference between the residences of myself and Beagles.  I live in the middle of a big city in a tower holding about five hundred other people.  Even in the deepest night there is a hallway light shining in under my door and if I look out my window there is the Lake Shore drive bridge at the edge of the lake teeming with teeny weeny autos whizzing by on important business I assume.

And four hundred and four miles a bit to the east and mostly north at the tippy tip edge of Michigan stands The Freehold.  I'm guessing about thirty miles from the four thousand souls of Cheboygan.  Thirty miles into the wilderness, nothing but deer and, I don't know, badgers or something like that, lonely but free as a bird.  When I poke my head out my door to get the paper I need to put on a robe, but Beagles can hop out of his door bare naked and do the hula all the way to the mailbox by the road.

Not an image I care to dwell on.  I was just thinking of the hassle of arguing with Amazon about the length of my table legs compared to having to remember not to doze off lest the cooking stove do you in.

I admire your grit Beagles.

Twenty minutes to sunrise, and I must get about my day.  I will get to Old Dog's post, and thrilling kitty stories after the weekend.