daylight hours

This morning Little Puppy looked at me as though she was highly insulted by my offering of dog food for breakfast. She left the kitchen with her nose held high and I stood there wondering if she was really going on a hunger strike. This is my fault, I know it is. For the last six or seven weeks, while I've been lost in my own sadness, I have been overcompensating with her, attributing my own grief to her and trying to make her feel better. And so she has eaten all manner of things completely inappropriate for dogs. She has shared carrot cake for breakfast with Shawn. She has nibbled tuna salad over my shoulder while I've had a sandwich. She had sushi for dinner last night. It's been a banquet for a six and a half pound pup.

But I want things to get back to normal again. I've been feeling myself starting to unfurl, and watching Shawn do the same. And now it's time for Little Puppy to start eating dog food again.

She came back into the room a few minutes later and begrudgingly ate the food I'd put out for her, watching me from the corner of her eye the entire time in case I changed my mind and decided to put the English muffin I was buttering into her dish instead of onto my plate. No such luck.


***


I've decided to go back to the Aboriginal school today since I liked it so much on Friday. I'm still trying to figure out where I fit in the world of Education, if that is in fact where I fit. I know there's something that draws me to it, even as something else pushes me away. I care about children, particularly the ones that don't fit in and need to feel accepted and cared about. But fighting such a slow battle every day for years on end has sometimes made me feel hopeless.


***


It's 8:00am and I'm leaving in about an hour. I wish the world would normally start at 9:00am. It's such a civilized time of day. Now, at 8:00, it's still pitch dark outside and the moon is glowing brightly. Starting a day under those conditions is wrong. By the time I get in my car at 9:00, the coffee will have had some time to do its magic, the sun will have risen, the traffic will be lessening, and I will feel awake and ready.

In Montreal, where Shawn worked for several months, employees worked "flex time". That meant they could come to work any time until 10:00am and leave any time until 6:00, providing eight hours were worked in the day. This beautiful deal is rarely offered in the West, in a world owned and operated by farmers and their descendants. Early to bed and early to rise is their motto.

Shawn's company allows flex time but is phasing it out. We used to take advantage of it when things were different; we slept until 8:30 or 9:00 so he could be at work for 9:30 or 10:00. That was how things went last winter. Now everything is upsidedown and inside out. He gets a ride to work with a friend, and they leave the house at 7:30. I usually leave before 8:00. But today things are on a slightly more relaxed schedule. I'm just meandering into the shower at the time I would normally already be on the road. I am appreciating this small gift.

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