Foghorns and Photos

A deep oooooooooo ricocheted around my mind as I muddled myself into consciousness this morning. Ooooooooooo. I didn't want to open my eyes. I knew it was still dark outside. I could hear Licorice Kitty purring to her kittens. I visualized my curtains dancing with the warm air from the heater vent. Oooooooooo. After a minute or so of more ooooooooooos, I came to several decisions.

First off, fog, fog, fog. Fog has been the morning norm the past weeks, and must be the harbor conditions this morning, too. I didn't want to open my eyes to confirm my suspicions. It was too early to attempt such an effort, and I didn't even know what time it was. I did knew, though, that the ooooooooooooo was one of two things. It was either the foghorn by the jetty or else a tug boat's horn as it escorted a ship in or took one out of the harbor.

Oooooooooo, the horn sounded yet again. This time I didn't hear tug boats or foghorns on harbor. I heard a fog horn from sixty-five years ago. That deep, haunting sound is the only memory I have of childhood days in Seattle. The rest of my Seattle memories stare at me from two-inch square photographs: my brother and I sitting on a sidewalk outside a shingled building (our home below the Aurora Street Bridge, I think), my dad dressed in his Naval whites, me poking my head out from between my mothers knees (she never did like that butt shot), and my dad tossing me into the air.

That is it. Those few black and white photos are all I know about the few months we called Seattle home--those photos and the eerie sound of a fog horn by Lake Union. Oooooooooooo.

While I'm talking about eerie here, moments ago I looked up from my laptop to see what Licorice was doing. I knew she had jumped onto my bed while I typed. All I could see were a pair of yellow eyes staring back at me. She was curled up on a black, leather coat that my granddaughter hadn't put away after looking for a retro-Halloween costume.

I wish my camera battery had been charged. A photo of my white headboard, white pillows, white duvet cover, long,black coat draped across the corner of the bed, and the big, yellow eyes of an invisible cat staring at me would have been stunning.

Can a moment in time be stunning? I hope so because a new week of adventure lies ahead. This week I'm going to look for those special Jesus moments to share. You know the ones like the phone call you either make or receive that blesses you both, the beauty of God's promise in a rainbow, the joy of his presence in quiet times. Those are the things of life that often pass me by without a thought. I don't want to miss them this week. I would love to experience some "stunning".

Have a God day, you all,

Jan, Licorice Kitty, and three chubby kittens sleeping in a row, in different directions, with one chubby fur-ball on top of them all.