Daily Life
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The Queen is Dead — Long Live the King
May Elizabeth Regina II rest in peace, and may God grant His Majesty King Charles III grace and wisdom on the throne of England. He will be crowned in a completely different world than the one that existed when his mother began her long reign. ~ S.K. Orr
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At the Curtain of Dusk
During a recent trip to the county dump, I tossed all of our garbage into dumpsters, then took a baggie of dry dog food from the front seat and poured the cup or so of food onto the gravel. I didn’t see the little cat that has greeted me for a while now, and I called to her, but she didn’t show. Driving out of the parking lot, I noticed for the first time a sign that warned against feeding feral cats, and indicating that anyone caught doing so would be considered the cat’s owner and would be responsible for damages and any fees incurred. I shrugged it off, but…
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September Morn
Today is, as near as we have been able to figure, Jinx and Bluebelle’s third birthday. When I walked out of the bedroom this morning the spotted twins were waiting for me. I sat down and they jumped all over me, greeting me. And JInx, predictably, scratched me with one of his ragged claws in his exuberance. I was grateful that he got me in the beard-covered area of my chin; the swipe drew blood. But it was okay. It’s the heeler twins’ birthday, but they are gifts to us. So Happy Birthday, you wild, rambunctious rumpus-makers. We’re so glad you’re here with us. ~ S.K. Orr
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Synchronicity and Sadness
My friend William James Tychonievich writes frequently, eloquently, and in a lively manner about the synchronicity he observes in his daily life. Today I thought of WJT when I learned that a talented but erratic country singer named Luke Bell apparently killed himself yesterday, the same day I learned of the suicide of my childhood friend Len. Mr. Bell seems to have lived a life that could be accurately described as tortured, and the life-taking whispers that chased him for much of his life finally overtook him. You don’t have to listen to many of his songs to recognize his talent and his emotional depth. I thought I would post…
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Into The Void Before Sundown
The first time I met Len, he had just arrived at our elementary school, a transplant from California, which made him interesting and exotic to someone from Pig’s Knuckle Junction like myself. He was taller than me, Nordic blonde, and bore a resemblance to Glen Campbell. Len had a great line of patter and that flat, explosively-bitten-off accent that Californians flaunt. We became fast buddies and palled around together from the get-go. We both loved tetherball, which was the rage in the elementary schoolyards during that age. We would race to the poles when the recess bell rang and play furiously until time to return to class. Len had been…
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The Slow Yearly
The almanac tells me that today was National Dog Day. Our trio did seem to have an extra degree of strut in their collective gait, come to think of it. Bluebelle smiled at us this evening, her front teeth in a perfect circle. We had just called her off of Jinx, whose throat she was biting with unsettling gusto. And Jinx was pleased though nonplussed when I sang to him at the end of day. I sing a tune to him called The Jinx Song, lyrics improvised each time, to the tune of the old Oscar Mayer baloney jingle. The spotted feller’s pleasure probably sprang from the fact that this…
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Woden’s Day
This morning, I had just settled in at my desk to begin work when the power went out. Mrs. Orr received a text notification from the power company that they were working to fix the problem and provided an estimated time for service restoration. I sat and listened to the silence of the house — one forgets how much noise even passive appliances make, like the hum of the refrigerator, etc. — and then went outside on the back porch to sit with the dogs. The hummingbirds are busier than ever, loading up the precious nectar to strengthen their taut little bodies in preparation for the upcoming journey down to…
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The Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost
Yesterday was our day to run errands, including mailing a birthday gift to my sister and shopping for a birthday gift for one of the grandchildren. Since the post office was closed on Saturday and since I had procrastinated in wrapping the gifts and packaging them, we had to resort to one of those UPS stores to get the thing shipped. I spent the morning wrapping each individual gift — small items that represent a variety of my sister’s interests — and then packing everything into a well-used cardboard box. I wrapped the box in plain brown paper and taped it thoroughly and added a hand-lettered shipping label. When we…
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Until This Instant
I was not angry since I came to France Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill: If they will fight with us, bid them come down, Or void the field; they do offend our sight: If they’ll do neither, we will come to them, And make them skirr away, as swift as stones Enforced from the old Assyrian slings: Besides, we’ll cut the throats of those we have, And not a man of them that we shall take Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. Henry V, Act IV, scene vii by William Shakespeare A friend sent me a text…
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Bears All Her Sons Away
I stepped outside with the dogs into a morning blanket of warm mist and fog, a sultry Woden’s Day in the mountains, and I breathed deep. The fog muffled the cow-calls and the birdsong, and the dogs disappeared into the gray air as they went to do their business. One of the female hummingbirds zoomed out of the gloom, right up to my face, cocking her head with a curious gesture that drew a laugh from me. She retreated to the feeder and breakfasted while I stood and absorbed the last quiet I would probably know on this particular day. I felt a tinge of sadness, and wondered why. And…