Captain's Phlog                         2020.01.13
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Follow my gaze. The alabaster lamp sits on a linen
doily beside an AM radio thats shaped like a model
T. The stand is softwood, simple and twenty inches
square with a drawer. A novel and sandstone
coaster clutter its remaining real estate. Beyond,
the vinyl bay window is home to a miniature cabin
made by my wifes father mimicing our first home.
Its encircled by a garland of faux pine. Batteries
in its LED lights need recharging.  Below, an
electric heater is giving the furnace a much
desired rest.  In front of me, my wife sits in the
glow of her tablet. Reclining in a sweater and
covered with a fleece throw, she is cozy.  Beside
her, a table made from the root and limbs of a
yellow birch supports her clutter of notes, the
Rolodex of upcoming duties.  A small bookcase of
pine and dusty ornament balances her command post.
Further, the door to the play, server, hobby,
sewing, doghouse when we're out room. A faint glow.
The gopher controlled lamp must be [on] at the
moment.  Between the two doorways a 6 branch of
grey birch festooned with a string of lights is
gripped in the cast iron vise of a tree stand. Two
weeks ago it grew out of a mound of colorful
boxes.  Stability. A triangle geographically and
spiritually is completed by my faithful friend.
Sleeping. The couch is her throne. The soapbox in
front, steps to her dais. She would dig, bow, wipe
her feet, recycle, sneeze all at my urging.
Younger days. Now hearing, stamina, memory,
something else? All lost. Perhaps they're in the
couch.