Oops. I made a mistake. I kinda tied one on last night without meaning to. It was just an accident. I bought some egg nog. I know, but I was trying to get into some sort of seasonal spirit. It was an egg nog that already had the whiskey in it. Silly stuff. Not the sort of thing I drink. But when I saw it at the counter, I thought, yea, I should get some of that. Surprisingly, it was good. Really good. I'd already had wine with dinner and my after dinner drinks. I thought, "I'll have one of these. This will slow me down." After all, how many egg nogs can one drink?
Looking at the bottle this morning, plenty. Not good. Not good at all. I had the worst dreams and kept getting up all night to get a drink of water.
I wouldn't suggest drinking a bottle of that. I either have Omicron or a terrible hangover this morning.
But I might blame it on the moon. Last night, of course, was the last full moon of the year. I remember going out to take photos of it as the clouds raced before its face, the moon dodging in and out in rapid order. It would have made lovely pictures, I think. I know I took some. I just don't have the energy to go looking for them now.
In the movie "Nightmare Alley," the head carnie entices the protagonist into a job with the promise of a hot meal. When he delivered the line, I turned to my companion and whispered, "hot meal." I don't think it registered with her, however. I think the significance of that phrase is lost by and large. But there was a time in America when that phrase was quite alluring. Many men went days without a "hot meal." It is difficult for most people to imagine (I imagine) today when hot meals are available on every corner of every major thoroughfare. I don't believe you could get many people to do anything with the promise of a "hot meal" now. It might only have been beans and potatoes with a little fatback thrown in back then, but it was something to warm the body and brace the soul.
Last night, a friend sent me an ad for a mattress topper. It confused me. She said it was a good deal. She asked me if I slept in a King bed. I did, I said, but it was cold comfort. Each night, I have it all to myself. I would take a warm bed, you know, something I've not had in a long while now.
I thought about the cat I feed. "My" cat, the neighbors say. "If you feed her, she is yours." Well, then. . . my cat. I feed her, but all the meals are cold. I imagine the only hot meal she gets is if she catches a rat. The body temperature of a rat is 100 F. Only carnivores, I guess, get a hot meal. But I imagine her meals are like our relationship. She sits on the deck with me from time to time, but we never touch. We supply one another, in essence, with cold comfort. It sustains us, but it is less than satisfying.
And of course, last night was the Full Cold Moon. It was a distant moon, too, farther away from earth than usual, small and cloud shrouded. It made you wish to sit before the fire. There is something undeniable about sitting before a fire with a hot cup of coffee or cocoa or tea. It is that time of year. . . or should be. It is unseasonably warm here and Omicron will keep many of us apart.
Perhaps there is an excuse for the egg nog.
The photo is of my old cat. She was feral, too, at one point, but she took to the warm comfort of lying on my feet or pressing up against my thigh as we sat on the couch together. I held her in my lap for hours before she died.
"I can give you a dollar a day. And I promise you a hot meal. There's a mattress over there you can use. You can roll it out in here."
I don't want to give it away, but in the end, it was the hooch that did him in.
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