Columns
Jim Atwell: In the winter darkness. . .
Lovers of dogs and cats
reading the following will
understand at once. Another
reaction will come from
those who just don’t understand
pets: ``Well, you fools!
It serves you right!’’
I’m bunking down these
days in my study to give
Anne respite from my Parkinson’s
restlessness. It’s a
great arrangement, with
her right across the hall in
a welcoming queen-sized
bed and with a new TV.
And I have a comfortable
single bed in what I now
think of as my ``man cave.’’
My bed, desk, books, lounger,
laptop — what more
could I ask? And most
nights I have the company
of Simon the cat. It’s like
camping out for us guys!
Simon spends many
nights at the bottom of the
bed, right between my ankles.
But cat lovers will understand
he also likes to
settle on some high eminence
in the room. His favorite
spot in the man cave
is atop the Xerox copier. It’s
suitably high and placed
just next to the west window.
Hunkered there, Simon
has a view across the
west field and right down
Allison Road, almost to the
bridge.
I’ve put a thick throw of
rough-woven wool on the
machine’s top and know
he’s grateful for it in his
catlike way. Which is to
say, he recognizes its value
and is glad that I know
what is due to him. I find
that an endearing quality
in cats. Others may call me
wacko.
One recent night, Simon
was enthroned on the Xerox
and I was deeply asleep,
settled down for a long winter’s
nap. Sometime in the
small hours, I half awoke to
a low electrical growl and
then a couple of clicks, but
then sank right back into
sleep. A minute later, or
maybe an hour, I came
awake again to ``thunk,
thunk, whirrr,’’ and again,
``thunk, thunk, whirr.’’
The Xerox was running.
Simon was over there, making
copies.
I jumped up and cut him
off after three sheets. On
his part, he rolled over and
stretched, then meowed inquiringly.
I guess that,
shifting earlier in his sleep,
he had pushed the machine’s
``On’’ button. Then,
later, he’d hit ``Print.’’ Repeatedly.
OK, no fault, no penalty.
Except to my sleep. For it
took awhile for me to settle
down again. After all, what
to my wondering eyes had
appeared? A gray-andwhite
cat, printing copies
in the night. If I had any
dreams after that, I’ll bet
they were interesting ones.
Sheep at electronic pianos,
maybe, and hens lined up
like Rockettes, kicking up
drumsticks high in front of
them.
The only disadvantage
of my man cave is that it’s
right above the kitchen,
and that’s where Blue the
dog sleeps. And does so
soundly, unless internal
distress makes him think,
``I gotta go—right now!’’
When that happens, he begins
moaning, at first softly
to himself.
If conditions worsen, he
shifts to a low register and
begins sounding like Long
John Silver. ``Arrrr,’’ he
says, and then, ``Arrrr!’’ But
there’s also a whiny, background
wheeze — as if the
crusty old pirate were choking
on a fish bone.
All this I can hear
through the floor and am
intended to. And when I get
up, pulling my feet from
under a disturbed Simon, I
sometimes open the bedroom
door to find Blue
standing right there, dancing
from foot to foot, all
wriggles and smiles and
wagging tail.
He knows he has violated
a major house rule:
``THOU SHALT NOT, OH
DOG, PAD FROM KICHEN
INTO DINING ROOM,
MUCH LESS UP THE
STAIRS, LEST THY TAIL
BE SHOVED UP THY
BUTT AND SNATCHED
OUT THROUGH THY
JAWS, TURNING THEE
INSIDE OUT!’’ But all his
dancing and smiling is to
convince me that desperation
has trumped ordinary
rules. I, of course, buy it.
Downstairs we go. I add
to my bathrobe my outdoor
coat and my red Elmer
Fudd cap, and we head out
into the Arctic darkness. I
have him on a leash and am
almost jerked after him as
he streaks for a favorite unloading
depot. I stand shivering,
admiring Orion overhead
lying at rest on his
back, as I’d sooner be. But
then Blue gallops back in a
kind of victory run, and
back we go into the house’s
warmth.
There’s a reason I have
Blue on a leash during such
night treks. There’ve been
several of them lately, all
following of a single cause.
Somewhere down in our
woods is a something in a
horrible state of decay. Blue
is ecstatic over it, and keeps
running off to fetch home
more pieces. So we keep
him under protective arrest.
It’s protective for us,
for what he hauls home is
beyond description.
Somehow he got away
from Anne a few nights ago
and galloped off into the
woods. My Anne, single minded
in her devotion, ran
off after him. And, as darkness
deepened, her wobbly
husband trundled after
both of them. I caught up
with Anne at the far end of
the property, halfway down
a steep, snow-covered
slope.
``Get back to the house!’’
she yelled, ``You’ll fall
down!’’ This from a dear
woman of a certain age, in
the blackness and halfway
down a snowy slope, with
every chance of snagging
her foot in brambles and
tumbling all the way down
and into Oaks Creeks.
Then I heard a distant
woof. ``He’s back up by the
house!’’ I shouted and headed
that way. Sure enough,
there stood Blue, just outside
the sheep gate. Whatever
he had dragged back
from the woods, he had already
hidden for future reference.
Everybody got back inside
safely, but on toward
morning I heard the choking
pirate below me again.
And so I unsettled Simon,
opened the bedroom door,
and found that dancing,
apologetic dog.
Why put up with such
things? For petless people,
I have no answer. For others,
none is needed.
Read about Jim Atwell’s
book at JimAtwell.com
- Columns
-
-
From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
(I owe the first part of this column to an informal writers’ workshop sponsored by the Smithy Pioneer Gallery. The small group, led by Gallery Director Danielle Newell, meets Sunday afternoons and is open to anyone interested in the writing craft. As a warmup exercise on that very rainy afternoon, we each wrote a few paragraphs on the weather and emotions. Here’s what that keen group prompted me to scribble down) The dour old Scotsman, the one featured in jokes without number about buying lottery tickets, pinching pennies, scorning worldly ways, etc., once silenced a friend who was praising the beautiful weather.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: We're back from Michigan ...
Unfortunately, we once again find ourselves stuck in a time warp. When we look at the calendar, we realize that Labor Day is fast approaching. Yet, we seem to be operating under the misconception that it is still early July due in large part to the fact that we spent the almost five weeks from July 15 to August 17 in Grand Rapids, Michigan. We feel the summer has sailed by and we, unfortunately, have not kept pace.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Censorship?
All those indebted to John Lawrence, Post-rider, and do not settle the same IMMEDIATELY may rely upon having to pay cost!! Otego, Aug. 24.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1984 comes to a close ... finally
As we continue traipsing through 1984, we realize that even though we were supposed to be covering the comings and goings of Cooperstown, we actually were able, even then, to touch on a number of pressing community, as well as personal, issues. Of course, much to the relief of the powers that were at CCS, the school was not among them. The he-we ran for the school board in 1984 and was elected. Thus the school was deemed off limits by the powers that were at the paper. But we discovered there was still a wide range of issues upon which we could write.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: New school book
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, Aug. 18, 1810
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Books offer tennis insights
Professional tennis sometimes seems to be the ultimate life. Where else could you travel the world, earn gobs of money, get in great shape, and have groupies from the opposite sex chasing you all the time? And you get all your equipment free to boot (which may explain why players smash racquets without remorse). Quite a glamorous life, isn’t it?
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Continuing our 1984 musings
Now that we have undertaken the beginnings of this column, we fear we find ourselves unable to stop our review of the early writings. In fact, we seem to be completely addicted to the project. And thus, we will continue to explore the very foundations on which this column has been built.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Burnett's book recalls 'Golden Age'
It’s a shame that today’s young generation missed the golden age of television from the 1960s and 70s. The fact that Hollywood studios with their ``original’’ ideas of constantly remaking hit TV shows from that era into new movies and reunion specials is quite telling. Even Fox with its ``That 70’s Show’’ is a reminder of that whimsical time.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: A place to cherish
As we enter into the middle of summer, let us pause and relish in the fact that we have been blessed with such lovely weather.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Hurray for Mother Bassett!
Just back from my annual week at Lake George’s Silver Bay, in company with about 600 other Quakers. As always, it was a great time: Friends shared silence in the early morning by the lake and during the day in the big brown-shingled tabernacle. (Silver Bay is an old YMCA camp.)
Continued ...
Plenty of fine stringed music and singing in the evenings; lots of daytime rocking-chair stints on the deep veranda, facing across rolling lawns and lake to green mountains and skies of startling blue. -
In These Otsego Hills: In the beginning
Our remembering Jerry in last week’s column has now lead us to muse about our early days of writing a weekly newspaper column.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Prohibition should not be ignored
I was an American history major in college and one topic that my professors never discussed was prohibition.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Elopement
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 21, 1810 Compiled, with comments BY HUGH C. MACDOUGALL
Continued ... -
Home Notes: Personal Care is a rewarding occupation
When I was a young girl in the early 50’s my family would often take rides through Cooperstown and the Cherry Valley area.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Remembering Jerry ...
Difficult as it is to believe, we have been a widow for eleven years this week. And yet it seems as if our late husband Jerry just died yesterday. The memory of it remains most vivid in our mind. We suppose there is much that we don’t remember about July 20, 1999. But we do remember just how much that day changed our life forever. We lost not only our spouse of 28 years, but also our best friend.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Celebrating the 4th
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 14, 1810 Compiled, with comments by
Continued ... -
Our Opinion: What’s good for the goose...
The board of trustees has decided to hire an engineer to review the work of CLA Site, the firm hired to do the site assessment and design work for the Village Gateway Project _ now known as the Cooperstown Intermodal Transit Project. That review will cost up to $12,000.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: ‘Thump-thump, dum-lum’
Since I last wrote to you I’ve been several times embraced to Mother Bassett’s bosom.
Continued ...
(Oh dear, I hope that’s not a disrespectful metaphor. But if you’ve seen photos, you know she was a handsome, dignified woman with an ample superstructure.) This time, for variety, the hospital visits at first seemed to have little to do with Parkinsonism. But a new problem had turned up that had me tested in every part of the hospital except obstetrics. -
In These Otsego Hills: Travels with The Widge...
We have decided that the role of grandmother is quite to our liking. As we have been told any number of times, as a grandparent it is perfectly acceptable to hold, play with and fawn over the grandchild until such time as said grandchild becomes fussy. And then, and this is the best part, it is completely within the purview of the grandparent to return the fussy grandchild to the parents. We love it.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Shocking accident, American arrested
On Wednesday last, as Joseph Faulkner, esq. of Middlefield, was returning home from Cherry-Valley, a gust of wind arose up suddenly, a large Elm was blown across the road, directly on Mr. Faulkner, who, together with his horse was instantly killed.
Continued ...
-
From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
