The Watchman’s Gone

The Watchman’s Gone

It’s a moody November day and the day fluctuates. I really do not mind the preclude to winter. It’s a nesting time for me. Yesterday I tucked away flower pots and outdoor furniture. Today it was rearranging dressers and sorting through clothes. When we moved last year we moved full dressers, no sorting. The time had come.

And then I found Pat’s watch. I knew I had put his wallet, work I.D., that type of thing, in one of the drawers, but I forgot about the watch.

Any of you who knew Pat will remember his attachment to two pieces of technology, his calculator and his watch. And he was always losing one or the other. But I found this paint splattered sport watch, still blinking with every bell and whistle, and I don’t mind telling you, I near lost my s**t.

Equally astounding was that the alarm was still set for 11:30 a.m., his daily reminder to “release the prisoners” for lunch (it went off on weekends and holidays as well).

But, oh my, that watch. Pat was a going concern. He tried to fit so much in a day, and he always ran out of time. I never even attempted to keep up so his pet name for me was Slothy after the character from Wind in the Willows. Obviously he took after Ratty.

He could relax though. He loved fishing and hunting and enjoyed his natural surroundings so very very much. And he loved to fall asleep on a lazy Sunday afternoon, listening to me clipping wool as I hooked. He would build us a beautiful big fire and the three of us would be together.

And then he was up cooking supper, listening to Earth, Wind, and Fire, while dancing around the kitchen.

And to my knowledge, he never tired of these home routines. It was a great place to be.

Love you Pat, my best watchman.

Making gingerbread cookies.

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