Day 7 - 11 September 2008
An unusual night, to say the least. Irving had already been up several times to the bathroom when, at 3:30 a.m. I suddenly woke again to find that Riley, who never pokes his sleepy little head out from under the blankets, was stumbling about, on top of them, gingerly making his way over our legs, looking for a comfortable place to settle.
I pulled him off my legs, tried to encourage him to duck back under the covers where he always settles quickly into a deep sleep, but he exerted every ounce of his little body to defy my intent. Finally, he decided he would settle down, against my hip atop the covers. I knew he would never find the kind of comfort he normally craved like that.
He needs warmth, and this was a cool evening. I tried to throw the edge of the blanket back over him; to no avail. He fidgeted with discomfort, finally beginning to shiver in a misery of cold. Very unusual behaviour. Finally I prevailed, urging him back under the blankets, to sleep.
We had packed the night before. Intending to load up the car as early as possible. the plastic clamshell that fits on the car-top carrier would have to be put in place. The very large oil painting in its elaborate, hand-made wood frame that Irving had wrapped so carefully - we'd gone to a Dollar Store for tape, a local grocery for knocked-down cardboard boxes that he used to box in the painting - would have to be stuck on the back seat of the car.
Just enough room to accommodate its size. The car trunk, as well as the clamshell would be too full to take the painting. There was a square box with the wrapped-against-breakage of a 19th-Century garniture - a figural clock with two matching candelabra - to be carefully packed.
Along with the housewares we always take along to augment the basic items in the cottage kitchen. Food we hadn't consumed, to be packed in a freezer chest. Our clothing, our hiking gear. And plenty of gifts to bring back, for our daughter, granddaughter, neighbour, ourselves. We do not travel lightly.
Assembling all of this baggage for carriage out to our Honda Civic, I always wonder how on earth Irving manages to pack it all in. But he's an experienced hand at this exercise in the frustratingly-impossible.
I digress, I know. I meant to emphasize our intent to get to bed prior to departure, earlier than has been our wont; close to midnight. We had thought a 10:00 p.m. goal might be possible. But then Irving came across a channel on television that was running one of his favourite shows, with his favourite actor.
At home one of the few television shows he looks forward to is "Law & Order, Criminal Intent" mostly because he's fascinated with the acting style of Vincent D'Onofrio, and here he was on the little screen. So, while he watched, I delved into The New York Times Sunday magazine, a story about the Taliban.
As a result, no early bedtime materialized. And the prospect of a long drive home loomed with insufficient rest. Given, particularly the night-time demands of his enlarged prostate. Added to the fact that his wife doesn't drive. And now little Riley's peculiar behaviour, robbing all of us of needed rest.
Having him hunkered down, finally, where he usually quietly passes the night, did not work out as it should have. For one thing he continued to shiver conspicuously, despite my expectations that he would be warmed and comforted. Instead of falling back to sleep however, he soon crept back out of the covers.
He toddled over my legs, then sat himself between us. I fumbled for the little flashlight on the bedside table. And found him sitting there, a mournful look on his face, hunched forward miserably. Irving awoke, I told him Riley wasn't well. Too much to eat, I hazarded, recalling earlier at dinnertime, having protested his habit of giving Riley tidbits from our dinner.
Irving pulled on trousers, socks, a warm hoodie and took Riley outside. Where the little misery proceeded to evacuate from all his orifices. Later, in the bathroom, Irving washed his little muzzle, his backside, them popped him back under the bed covers. And Riley was asleep in a wink. Irving soon afterward, and me much later.
Button made certain we were up early enough; 7:00 a.m. She felt that was time enough. And we grudgingly agreed. wouldn't be so bad if we could share the drive, if I could spell him, but I can't and I won't. Never did I have the remotest interest in driving, though I always felt a guilty pang about my lack of ability.
I even took a drivers' education class and driving lessons at age 65, but found that though it was moderately interesting (in a class of teen-age kids) and the driving kind of fun, soon lost interest and never did get around to applying for a permanent license, happy to let the skills slide into neglect.
It was cool when we departed, the sun out, the sky half-host to beautiful cloud formations. There was an obvious overnight temperature inversion. Some areas may have seen frost. Mist rose in billowing sheets from the mountain slopes. Water still vapourizing off the asphalt of the highway. Majesty rose before us as we approached Franconia Notch.
A pair of turkey vultures circled above and beyond. Sun glanced off the great naked rockfalls on the granite shield of mountain slopes. Eagles Nest rose sharply over the highway. We recalled the delicate mosses and lichens seen there long ago in a grotto behind the prominence on our second ascent taking us to the pinnacle of Mount Lafayette.
When we were younger, and our children yet younger.
I pulled him off my legs, tried to encourage him to duck back under the covers where he always settles quickly into a deep sleep, but he exerted every ounce of his little body to defy my intent. Finally, he decided he would settle down, against my hip atop the covers. I knew he would never find the kind of comfort he normally craved like that.
He needs warmth, and this was a cool evening. I tried to throw the edge of the blanket back over him; to no avail. He fidgeted with discomfort, finally beginning to shiver in a misery of cold. Very unusual behaviour. Finally I prevailed, urging him back under the blankets, to sleep.
We had packed the night before. Intending to load up the car as early as possible. the plastic clamshell that fits on the car-top carrier would have to be put in place. The very large oil painting in its elaborate, hand-made wood frame that Irving had wrapped so carefully - we'd gone to a Dollar Store for tape, a local grocery for knocked-down cardboard boxes that he used to box in the painting - would have to be stuck on the back seat of the car.
Just enough room to accommodate its size. The car trunk, as well as the clamshell would be too full to take the painting. There was a square box with the wrapped-against-breakage of a 19th-Century garniture - a figural clock with two matching candelabra - to be carefully packed.
Along with the housewares we always take along to augment the basic items in the cottage kitchen. Food we hadn't consumed, to be packed in a freezer chest. Our clothing, our hiking gear. And plenty of gifts to bring back, for our daughter, granddaughter, neighbour, ourselves. We do not travel lightly.
Assembling all of this baggage for carriage out to our Honda Civic, I always wonder how on earth Irving manages to pack it all in. But he's an experienced hand at this exercise in the frustratingly-impossible.
I digress, I know. I meant to emphasize our intent to get to bed prior to departure, earlier than has been our wont; close to midnight. We had thought a 10:00 p.m. goal might be possible. But then Irving came across a channel on television that was running one of his favourite shows, with his favourite actor.
At home one of the few television shows he looks forward to is "Law & Order, Criminal Intent" mostly because he's fascinated with the acting style of Vincent D'Onofrio, and here he was on the little screen. So, while he watched, I delved into The New York Times Sunday magazine, a story about the Taliban.
As a result, no early bedtime materialized. And the prospect of a long drive home loomed with insufficient rest. Given, particularly the night-time demands of his enlarged prostate. Added to the fact that his wife doesn't drive. And now little Riley's peculiar behaviour, robbing all of us of needed rest.
Having him hunkered down, finally, where he usually quietly passes the night, did not work out as it should have. For one thing he continued to shiver conspicuously, despite my expectations that he would be warmed and comforted. Instead of falling back to sleep however, he soon crept back out of the covers.
He toddled over my legs, then sat himself between us. I fumbled for the little flashlight on the bedside table. And found him sitting there, a mournful look on his face, hunched forward miserably. Irving awoke, I told him Riley wasn't well. Too much to eat, I hazarded, recalling earlier at dinnertime, having protested his habit of giving Riley tidbits from our dinner.
Irving pulled on trousers, socks, a warm hoodie and took Riley outside. Where the little misery proceeded to evacuate from all his orifices. Later, in the bathroom, Irving washed his little muzzle, his backside, them popped him back under the bed covers. And Riley was asleep in a wink. Irving soon afterward, and me much later.
Button made certain we were up early enough; 7:00 a.m. She felt that was time enough. And we grudgingly agreed. wouldn't be so bad if we could share the drive, if I could spell him, but I can't and I won't. Never did I have the remotest interest in driving, though I always felt a guilty pang about my lack of ability.
I even took a drivers' education class and driving lessons at age 65, but found that though it was moderately interesting (in a class of teen-age kids) and the driving kind of fun, soon lost interest and never did get around to applying for a permanent license, happy to let the skills slide into neglect.
It was cool when we departed, the sun out, the sky half-host to beautiful cloud formations. There was an obvious overnight temperature inversion. Some areas may have seen frost. Mist rose in billowing sheets from the mountain slopes. Water still vapourizing off the asphalt of the highway. Majesty rose before us as we approached Franconia Notch.
A pair of turkey vultures circled above and beyond. Sun glanced off the great naked rockfalls on the granite shield of mountain slopes. Eagles Nest rose sharply over the highway. We recalled the delicate mosses and lichens seen there long ago in a grotto behind the prominence on our second ascent taking us to the pinnacle of Mount Lafayette.
When we were younger, and our children yet younger.
Labels: Peregrinations, Personally Dedicated
posted by Pieface @ 6:58 PM
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