A thud in the middle of the night

Last night I was startled from a sound sleep by loud thud. Instantly I thought it was my wife, Ann, who wasn't at my side in the bed, but just a couple of seconds later I could hear her footsteps in the hall. "Did you hear that?" I said. "It scared the heck out of me. I thought it was you." It wasn't, praise God!
But it was uncanny because the noise I heard sounded exactly like someone falling to the floor in a heap. After making sure Ann was safe I decided that I could wait until the morning light to find out what had happened. Unfortunately, the adrenalin I had experienced in my brief moment of panic kept me awake for the remainder of the night.
The wind had been blowing hard and I suspected maybe a branch from our large evergreen tree to the south of our house, the one I had talked about with a friend just yesterday. Sure enough, when I walked outside in my pajamas this morning, there was a four inch thick branch lying on our house, right above our bedroom. I pulled it off and inspected the roof which had just been put on in October. Thank goodness, there was no damage. I will be grateful for that, and likely, the nap I will take this afternoon.

There's nothing like a shedding cat

I don't know what to do about my cat, Scout. She's shedding like crazy and she likes to jump up on the bed and lay down right below my pillow. Ann doesn't like to pull the top blanket up to the pillows, in other words, make the bed, because then Scout puts hair all over the part of the blanket that gets pulled up to her face. So, I end up having to place something on the bed that will reduce our furry friend's ability to lie in her favorite spot. I have a large pile of books on my nightstand, so I spread them around and that keeps her further down on the bed--unless I forget. Which is too often. And every time I forget, there she is, by my pillow. I think one solution would be to keep the doors closed on the bedroom so that the only time Scout can get in is when we are in there with her. Then, we just have to never turn her backs on her, because that's when she makes her move.
It's a tragedy of epic proportions.

Taking some time to remember

As we neared completion on our house renovation, I paused for a moment, remembering. It won't be long now before someone else owns the home that we owned for 27 years, and I'll no longer be able to go inside and think about things. A lot of life was lived in that home. Many many memories came flooding back. I looked up at the chain dangling from the ceiling fan. Still attached to it, was a small piece of tape. Why is this tape here? I wondered. And then it came to me--we used to tape the mistletoe to that chain. I had shared many a smooch with my amazing wife, Ann, under that mistletoe. I gazed at the stairs--there was the place where I had broken down and cried when I was explaining to Rebecca that our cat Ralph had cancer and was going to have to be put to sleep. Looking around that kitchen I remembered fond times when our family made sugar cookies, or when I pulled out the cast iron cookware and made Mountainman breakfast. I thought about my grandchildren coming over and helping me put together some cookies or make scone dough on that counter, and of the kitten we thought we wanted that crawled through a broken part of the baseboard beneath the sink and hid--we had to tear apart the bottom of the cabinet to get it out.

I looked over at our newly remodeled dining area. The new light there and the new floor, the missing table--none of it could dim my memories of the time spent playing board games--Scrabble, Boggle, Clue, Probe and the rest. Or of eating family meals together--ketchup roast, jackpot, to die for blueberry muffins, tacos. Or of Ann and the kids working on art projects together.

The basement brought back memories of writing, guitars, working on the computer, building a bookcase with Ben, cats on the window ledge, and the time when I was lifting weights overhead and felt something on my leg and glanced down to spy a black widow creeping up my bare leg.

I went back up to the main floor and saw the Christmas trees. The piano. The birds in the quakies out the south window, and the magnificent silver maple out front. I saw snowmen in the yard and started whistling Walking in the Air. I envisioned my kids and I playing in the front yard with baseballs and footballs, and playing horse on the driveway.

Further upstairs I looked out the windows for one last time. From the master bedroom, I looked across the church lawn, glad that I could see it, missing the poplars, but not really. I never really liked them anyway. Now, without them I could see my beloved mountains far across the valley. I remembered seeing my fellow church members out there on the lawn for activities---the ward picnic, the stake carnival, young men and young women activities. In the yellow room, I looked down upon the garden, the one that wouldn't grow because of the shade from the poplars, and which now was growing splendidly---the season we leave. It's fitting. I look further and spot Mt. Timpanogos. I've always been thrilled that  I can see "Timp" from my house so far away.

I look over at my good neighbor's, the Robbins, house and think about the good people they are, and think about how blessed we have been to have had them as neighbors since the beginning, and also to have the Earls on the other side of us for many of those years. A lot of good memories flood my mind associated with my friends who also happen to be my neighbors.

Memories. So many memories. They say you can't go home again, and perhaps literally that's true. But good kind people, good memories and good times are the fiber of which life is made. Treasure them all. We can go home again.