Animal Saints

Every morning I get up, make a latte for Ann, a hot cocoa for myself and then I sit before the computer and read the news online, check my email, and play one or two games of Sudoku. This routine has become a habit, not a bad habit, but a habit nonetheless. Part of my morning routine includes five animal saints, or paintings that my artist-friend Trina made for an art show. They hang on the wall just above the computer and their eyes watch me attentively.

The first one Trina showed me was a lamb and I fell in love with it instantly. Having once owned sheep, I loved the way she'd captured the eyes and the tuft of hair on the top of the head. My other favorite is the long-haired bull with his flared nostrils and his shaggy mane. The other saints are an iguana (Ann's pick), a penguin, and a piglet. They are nice, but the lamb and the bull are my particular favorites.

I'm trying to start a new routine these days. Now that I'm no longer teaching, my schedule is happily much less cluttered and I have days with large chunks of unscheduled time. Today is such a day. I have no where to be and no obligations except for those I've set for myself.

Today's agenda includes writing, reading, and pulling out my master's thesis as instructed by my "life coach" Leah. We met the other day and it was a great meeting. I shared with her all my "ah-has" and she reaffirmed my feelings and my worries. "Now you must begin the task of writing," she said. "You can't let the transition get in the way anymore."

And so I've written out a schedule of my week including the times when I must work and the times when I want to walk the dog, make pasta, and clean the house. Today was my first attempt to follow this new routine, but from the get-go it got a bit muddled.

First, we woke up later than expected. This was intentional, but at the time when I set the alarm I didn't think about the impact on "the schedule." Next, Ann spent her morning gathering together the things she needed for her first day back in the classroom sans kids. She couldn't find things and while she doesn't need me to help her, she does talk about what she needs and I feel compelled to listen and assist. This is not the most conducive atmosphere for writing.

But the biggest interruption was when Rubin ran to the back door barking wildly at a squirrel. This is a normal morning habit for him (either squirrels or cats), but this morning, right after his mighty woof, he jumped slightly and skittered back to his bed in the office. He chattered his teeth, smacked his lips together and threw himself down so he could lick some part of his back end that was clearly in pain.

Only after much investigation did we finally see the dead bee on his bed, the bee he'd apparently carried from the back door to his bed when it had chomped into his back leg for its last torturous sting. Rubin was not pleased. Not only did it clearly hurt, but he had no idea what had happened to him. We called the vet who told us to watch for swelling or any difficulty in breathing. She also told us to apply a cold compress on the bee sting that Rubin surprisingly submitted to once he knew how good it felt.

There is no swelling, but he is still nervous and has yet to walk close to the back door. Needless to say, it threw off the new routine, but I took it all in stride. Again, there are no obligations to the day except for the ones I've put before me. Now that Ann is out the door and Rubin is sleeping soundly in his bed behind my chair, I can begin the routine again under the watchful eye of Saint Lamb.