Yesterday was one of those dreary, rainy, thunder-stormy days in the southern U.S., when you should be taking care of some of the little chores on your to-do list, but all you really want to do is sleep. I chose to do the latter — until nearly 1:00 p.m., in fact. But then I had the option of getting up or wetting the bed, so I wisely decided to get up.

I resisted the urge to spend the day in my pajamas, hoping that I might find a bit of energy at some point. But ambition eluded me. Instead, I sat in my den, drinking my breakfast (a protein drink, not booze); read and deleted my first batch of 102 (by actual count) junk emails of the day; tried unsuccessfully to compose something interesting for my blog; worked on a crossword puzzle; went to the kitchen for something to eat; and listened to the rain beating against the windows on this side of the house.

And when an unexpectedly sharp clap of thunder lifted me a couple of inches out of my chair, it also sent Dixie — our mixed-breed fur baby, who normally isn’t bothered by storms — leaping across the room and onto my feet. (She would have landed in my lap, but my iPad was already there.) So I spent the next 20 or 30 minutes petting, rubbing, scratching, massaging, and talking to her, while she milked the attention for all it was worth.

It did not take her that long to calm down. But I found, as I was focused on making her feel better, that I was also benefiting from those moments of togetherness. There is nothing in this world like the pure love and gratitude in a dog’s eyes as you rub its belly while it lies, spread-eagle and unashamed, across your feet.

But then my right foot began to feel a bit numb, so I called an end to Dixie’s full-body massage, hobbled around the house until I felt my circulation returning, and once more settled down to think about a topic for today’s blog.

Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was how totally boring my life has become. I mean . . . routine, and dull. Dull, dull, dull.

I am — mentally, at least — the same person who once traveled to places like Budapest, and Tbilisi, and Szentendre; who lived in Prague and in Moscow; who climbed a mountain in Czechoslovakia, and flew in a World War II biplane in Texas; who ate fresh-caught salmon in Alaska, lobster in Nova Scotia, and Dover sole in Stockholm; and who smuggled a Russian-government-issued portrait of Vladimir Lenin out of Moscow in my suitcase under the watchful eye of the KGB.

But those days of travel and adventure are all in the past. Even if I had the opportunity today, I’m not physically able to do the things I did 30, or 20, or even 10 years ago. And while I’m so grateful that I took the chances I did back then, I sometimes — on a rainy day like yesterday — find myself resenting the fact that I no longer have those kinds of experiences to look forward to.

And then I saw this cartoon on Facebook, and when I stopped laughing, I realized that — while things aren’t as great as they used to be — they’re not actually as bad as the seagull seems to think.

Life may no longer be exciting; but I figure that, as long as I have a dog to cuddle with, a sense of humor, and a blog to write, I’ll be fine.

Thanks for listening.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
5/28/25