GRENDEL AND ME (August '08)

Bernie Moore

It’s Time for Our Walk…Now!

I was talking to Grendel the other day and he was telling me how much he likes the hunt. “Ya know,” quoth he, “You’ve been gimping around a bit lately. You could unhook the leash, and I’ll just have a little look-see around. Nothing big, just a peek.”

“Grendel, me boy, you know how much I’d love to watch you on the hunt. But! We’re 20 yards from a busy street and cars travel faster than you brain is programmed to respond safely. Besides, the neighbors hate it when you raid their bird feeders. You see, the birds are supposed to eat there, not be eaten there.”

“I don’t eat them there,” he protested weakly, “I always bring them home.” He knew his position was weak and meowed it for from habit than spontaneous enthusiasm.

“OK, then you go down with me; I gotta do a good sniff around and see what the skinny is,” his enthusiasm back. “Huh? ”

My reply was rote, no more effective than before, but still you gotta respond someway. “You know”, saeth I, “If there is one thing they hate more than a black cat prowling their decks, it’s an oversized human leading him around.”

It was then he abandoned his discourse and began tugging relentlessly on his leash. As he set out his fluffy tail began to vibrate. Don’t know how else to describe I, but when he gets really excited about something coming up his tail starts vibrating like a tuning fork. It ripples and cascades and I know whatever coming is going to be done at high speed.

This will lead us to our monthly homily:

“The true meaning of life is found in anticipation.”

This is my own, so it’s probably not something someone is going to hang on the fridge, but it does give rise to the anticipation of an upcoming dive trip. It’s nice to doze off at night with the thought of an upcoming trip, 3, 4, or 5 months away.

Our thoughts on the trip begin to feign the doppl;er effect of a train approaching a crossing, Louder and faster as it approaches. By the last 48 hours the clanging in our ears drowns out practically everything, and packing and repacking seems to be the only relief.

So at under two weeks to Curacao my mind is not entirely my own. Perhaps the most anticipated moment is unloading the car and thinking, “Home again!” At that point my tail too is vibrating like a tuning fork.

Then there is the timeless dreamy kaleidoscope of wetdry, wetdry until that dreaded moment when we realize we have to finish the booze and get packed and quickly too.

Returning home we have crowded memories to keep us warm, but only until we can get the next trip into the book. Then anticipation leans in above the surreal seam of life, and dreams, waiting for the call, drift like clouds of smoke just beyond the clamoring of our days. My tail’s atwitter.