Storms

Last evening I knew a storm was approaching even before I checked the weather radar.  My smallest Yorkie, Lily, was in full "something is coming and I don't like it" mode.  She paced the living room.  She kept an eye on the windows.  She pestered me in between pacing and watching.  And as soon as the first flash of lightning and the first roll of thunder occurred, she curled up in her kennel and went to sleep.  Sometimes I think she is more accurate in her predictions of approaching storms than is the weatherman.

Up until recently, Jessie Jane would accompany her partner in crime in her pacing and watching and pestering.  But age seems to have caught up with my Jessie.  I'm not sure of her exact age, but it is around the 13 year mark.  She has adopted a "whatever" attitude and only gets excited when there is a treat in her immediate future.  Last night she stayed in her kennel, which seems to be her favorite place to be now, and watched Lily's frantic pacing from there.  It was kind of like "Fine.  Whatever.  Wake me when it's over."

The storm didn't last very long and produced just a little pea sized hail.  The sun is shining now, but more storms are headed this way in the afternoon and evening hours.  I had thought about making a grocery run today, but think I will wait until tomorrow when the storms will have passed.

My daughter did an excellent job in choosing a vacuum cleaner for me.  I test drove it yesterday.  I thought that my bedroom carpet was pretty clean with the exception of a few little bits and pieces that find their way onto a rug, but when I went over the carpet, the new vac picked up enough cat hair to build a whole new cat.  My living room carpet will be cleaned this afternoon, and if the new carpet scrubber works half as well as the new vac, I will be happy.

I sometimes wonder what it says about my personality that I am content to watch weather predicting dogs and am happy about the performance of a new vacuum cleaner.  Most would probably say that my life is about as exciting as watching paint dry.

Now that warmer weather is here, my windows are open some to let in all that lovely spring air.  The down side is that I can more clearly hear the voices of some of the patrons of the bar next door.  It isn't a rowdy bar - more of a neighborhood place.  But I hear quite often the nearly hysterical laughter of some who seem to have a need to have a good time, no matter what.  And I hear the harsh words of arguments, usually fueled by too much to drink.

I don't drink.  There was a time when I did.  A lot.  It was in my best interest to stop drinking altogether, for I didn't like that person very much.  The one who didn't know when to stop.  That being said, I have no problem with those who enjoy an adult beverage.  Or with those who like to go out on the town.  But in the past year or two, it seems that things have changed.  For the 17 years I have lived here, I have heard those voices, especially on the weekends.  And it seems to me that the voices that once were those of every day folks having a beer or two, laughing and joking and just enjoying an evening out with friends, now are almost frantic in their quest for a good time.  The laughter seems forced.  The fights are a nightly occurrence.  And instead of the friendly banter among friends, I hear a lot of hate and discontent.

I thought perhaps it is because I have gotten old.  But I really don't think it is.  I thought maybe it was because I no longer drink, but that's not it, either.  People have changed.  Or at least, the attitudes of society have changed.  It is almost like people know, deep down inside, that bad things are coming, and they have a need to raise as much hell as possible while they still can.

I hope I'm wrong.