Dawn of the Damp

My dogs are sick of it. "Hey," one of them told me this morning, "we get you up everyday at dawn so we can enjoy the sunrise together, but what do you give us in return? Rain...and wind... and, and, general unpleasantness, that's what. It ain't fair, I tell you." I've tried to explain to them that I'm not in charge of the weather, but they don't understand. After all, I appear to be in charge of everything else, providing food, opening and closing doors, walks, rides, snacks, even making it light in the house when it's dark outside. I tell them to have patience the day will improve, the sun will rise, the wind and rain will abate, and even memories of the Denver Broncos latest defeat at the hands (in particular the right hand of Peyton Manning) of the undefeated Indianapolis Colts, will wane. They doubt it. Dogs aren't long on patience. I point out the rainbow that is arcing as it does every morning this time of the year in the vicinity of Volcan Baru as evidence of the day's improvement and all three dogs look skyward and say, "Yeah, so?" Dogs care as much for rainbows as they do patience. "Look," they tell me, "we did our job. We got you up, barked at nothing to be sure you were wide awake, hounded you (no pun) until you fed us and now, well, we're tired. We're going back to bed. Good luck with that computer thing. Oh, and, could you do something about the weather, before we get back up?"

The definition of eclectic reading: I'm reading Kinky Friedman in English, Gabriel Garcia Marquez in Spanish and Milan Kundera in English translated from the Czech. "Greenwich Killing Time", "El Amor En Los Tiempos Del Colera", and The Incredible Lightness of Being", respectively. Two of the three books are great; I've read them before. About the third, well, Kinky is a funny guy.

Alrighty then. The blogger sits at the keyboard dressed in old sweats he has pulled on over his PJ's, stare-ing disconsolately inward in search of a thought...any thought. He has none. Surely, he reasons, breaking the long stare, there must be something to blog about un-blogged about heretofore. But nothing comes. Ah well, he thinks before signing off, maybe tomorrow.