The First Cup

Please allow me the first cup of the morning, then we'll chat.

Or, at least I'll try.

Funny, business. One day you feel as if you need to stand outside and beg them to walk inside, the next find yourself screaming, "Leave me alone." Which I'd never consider. I love 'em all.

I hear a crow scream...Autumn has arrived.

Stephen

Bumps In The Night

For several weeks now I've felt not quite myself. As many of you know I do not sleep well. I roam the darkness. Catalog the song of owls and spend time down at the river with my rear firmly planted on the dock with my feet in the water. My waking hours nothing more than a daze.

Now, I feel like a fool.

Several months back, after a long conversation with my family doctor, he prescribed an anti-depressant. I dutifully had it filled. When I arrived home with this new medication I carefully read the accompanying instructions and was taken aback by all its possible side affects. Then Sweet Wife read the same and since we both agreed the side affects too dangerous I agreed not to take this medication. I chucked the bottle on the kitchen counter and forgot it.  

The seasons change. Spring into Summer and now Autumn. Somewhere within the fabric of time I began to change. I did not notice this change within myself, but Sweet Wife knew something wasn't the same. I ignored her warnings.

My energy was gone. My will to care left me. I just flat didn't give a damn about life. I worked as normal and each afternoon locked my shop and drove home, and sometimes, made dinner. Often I'd just stop along the way and grab fast food. Weird.

One afternoon I awoke to find I'd been standing in place with a framed photograph in my hands. I wasn't aware of when I'd taken the picture from its place nor how long I'd held it. Very unsettling, to say the least.

Then, one day I dropped by the pharmacy for my prescriptions. Returned home and placed them, as I normally do, on the vanity. Later, went to bed. Same routine. Stare at the ceiling, think, toss and turn, glance at the clock, moan and mumble, again and again. Then, for some odd reason, I thought of my medications. I remembered the bottle tucked away in the kitchen. Where was it, I asked. Maybe, just maybe, it would help. The moment slipped away but some slight fragment of this brief thought remained the next day.

I'm uncertain if I searched the next morning or a day later. It doesn't matter for eventually search I did indeed. The bottle had disappeared. Forgot about it.

One night recently I'm about my routine of popping pills. I reach and take yet another bottle of medicine and for some odd reason read the label. Turned to Sweet Wife and asked her if she'd remind me why I'm taking this medication as I can't remember to save my life. She reads the label, repeats out loud, 'Citalopram.'

"Oh,"

She said.

I'd been taking the medication all along....for all these months, I'd without awareness, altered my brain chemistry.

I'd become a Zombie. The bottle of poison had magically made its evil way into my nightly routine and had each month been refilled by the pharmacy.

And, here's the sad part. I can't just quit. There is no cold turkey. I must slowly over a period of time reduce its hold over me, at least so said the doctor.

We'll see.

Isn't Fall best of all.

Stephen





  

Bits & Pieces

Cool and very windy here this morning. I'm into my busy season so entries will begin to be few and far between in the weeks to follow. Please be patient with me; we make hay while the sun shines.

My friend Duke just stepped in for coffee and gab. Reports his mother-in-law has some complications. Hold her in your prayers, please.

Our group meets tomorrow so I'll be sure and take pictures if any situation presents itself for such...never know with a bunch of veterans. I've yet to send my loin clothe to the cleaners. Its a bit grubby....

Gotta run, need to jerk another cup of coffee. You guys should hear the wind here...now, this sounds and feels like Autumn.

Do any of you remember the line etched on Hemingway's grave stone, "For he loved Autumn the best..."

Me too.

Stephen

Autumn Mornings

I walked outside this morning to the coolest temperatures we've experienced since last winter. The air held that brambly oak smoke scent of fall and it was 68 degrees, nice. 

Later, as Little Bit climbed from my truck she, silent, glanced up and watched a formation of geese, high in their V formation and turned and threw me a big smile, her all cute. She didn't say a word as the geese honked and pulled air, hard on their way to the river. I smiled along with her.

The best mornings of my life, as a boy, were those first crisp fall November mornings when I was pulled from bed early for the first day of duck season. I'd move into the kitchen where the odors of fresh coffee, bacon and Hoppes Number 9 mingled with the promise of open skies and cold rain with high clouds scudding in waves across the marsh. I miss my youth when we were all so young. So young.

This morning with the cool air and the trace of smoke, geese in flight, and Little Bits' joy, I'm happy.  

Stephen