Order Among the Foundlings

mark-ryden-little-boy-blue

 

On days like today, I suppress my silly and ever-present alter egos, securing Chicken Little in her pen and Pollyanna, on the screened porch with a thankfully “rhetorical” litter of foundling kittens. All secular issues went quickly to “hold” as Jon had yet another doctor’s appointment and, yet again, I was his dutiful nurse, concierge, and traveling companion as he is always mine. Nothing else had reason to matter.

     The visit went well and just as we had hoped.  Reports of his vim and vigor were neither exaggerated nor unwarranted. He continues to improve, evoking eager smiles from all directions … but most of all mine. There is no greater joy than really feeling his improvement and not just believing, but also knowing that he is casting out the demons with the disease. And today, as we drove the familiar drive home to Marklewood, we were all smiles.

     When we finally closed the front door behind us, Jon had a quick and late lunch, and then retired with the pusses. I, on the other hand, sat at my desk, full of sighs and twinkles of contentment. If a mirror had been handy, I could tell you whether a brow was indeed cocked. I closed my eyes and wallowed for a few minutes in joy. Order at Marklewood was still intact.

     While Jon surely fell deeper into his slumber, in full feline synchronicity, I cleared a spot on my blotter and, in profound relief, put my head down. With my right arm cradling the side of my face, my left arm resting on my knee, and my eyes yet wide open, I just imagined how life might, or rather, will be. One moment became an hour of ethereal meadows, shooting stars, and children skipping down the road to Ole King Cole’s neighborhood bait shop.

     The cows are coming home on their own accord, it seems. I’ll tuck away my horn and spend the day frolicking … and perhaps start thinking about re-purposing Jon’s “walking” staff. But mum’s the word; we wouldn’t want Jon to add sheep to his list of farm animals he’d like to raise.

     Today I am Little Boy Blue and I am tickled pink. Mind you, those are colors that I take neither lightly nor readily. Tomorrow is yet another day. I patiently wait to see which personas vie.

 

 (Image: “Little Boy Blue” by Mark Ryden, 2001.)

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