Mulling things on my morning ramble
with Storm, the family's mixed Lab.
Time slips away.
Figuratively, and actually.
The last time I did a Ramble with Storm was Jan. 6, more than two weeks ago.
That means I'm too busy. Ramble with Storm is my chance to reflect, then buff into words. I don't mind if I miss a day or two, but longer than that signals I have too much going.
That's been the case the last couple weeks.
I lost a couple days tracking down the bizarre story of the gizzard shad die-off in Chicago harbors. The first big week of outdoor shows took out last week. The second boy doing a weekend-long celebration of his 14th birthday took out last weekend. Getting the radio show, ``Outside,'' up and going took over what moments remained. Correction, my Bears and Steelers love took out whatever was left.
And winter just slows me. I lose something of my spark. Hopefully, it is just banked like an old-time fire in the hearth.
Last night, in the starkness of that moonlight, I felt some of the old spark building back in that sharp night light.
Hope all had a chance to see it last night. It was so bright you could turn off the car lights and drive. Not that I recommend that.
This morning, for the first few blocks of the ramble with the meathead, I thought, what's all the hubbub? Yeah, it was cold, but I felt fine inside multiple layers, full Carhartts and felt-insoles inside rubber boots.
The meathead loved it.
Then we reached the edge of town.
That tiny breeze out of the northwest suddenly froze my face into a mask. My face felt like Melanie Griffith's looks. BTW, she was born just a few days after me.
Don't know if that makes her or me old.
I toughed it out for another 100 yards, then thought, ``Enough.''
We turned and headed back to home.
My Christmas-gift high-low thermometer read 0 at dawn with a slight negative reading sometime during the night.
Life routines return.