A drop in the barometer is never a good thing for someone coping with fibromyalgia (or quite a few other autoimmune disorders).
However, that discomfort is somewhat offset when rain accompanies the low-pressure system. Waking to the patter of rain on the roof this morning was blissful. I delayed moving a single muscle for several minutes of peaceful enjoyment.
Not moving served multiple purposes; the two most important being not waking Rhonda up (who would immediately and joyfully wiggle over my neck, often upside down, to deliver morning kisses and what Jerry and I both refer to as “neck hugs”), and as long as I remained motionless, I wouldn’t have to take an accounting of which body parts were aching most on this rainy morning.
Too late! I must’ve wiggled a toe – here came Ronni, already doing her happy morning dance. I tried ignoring her at first, wanting one more moment of dozing, but seriously, how does one ignore this particular morning ritual?
Our morning always begins thus. Once kisses and belly rubs are delivered, Ronni scrambles from the bed and trots straight to the door, where she sits, waiting patiently for Mom to complete her part of the morning routine.
I slip my feet into comfy sheepskin-lined suede slippers, open the black-out shades beside the bed, turn the burner under the tea-kettle on while opening the galley window shade, and go to the bathroom.
Ronni’s tail is whipping madly at this point, knowing her morning walkie is next. I don a light rain-jacket over my PJs and grope around in the dog gear for Ronni’s raincoat.
Rhonda gives me a suspicious look, but allows herself to be draped and Velcro’d into her little rubberized neon-green slicker.
I opened the door and stepped out, inviting her to join me. The rain was not a downpour, but it was coming down steadily. Need overcame her reluctance to walk on wet grass and she had soon accomplished her morning toilet. But not without half glaring, half squinting at me, mid-squat, as if to say, “My head is wet. This is all your fault!”.
Ronni headed promptly back to the stairs, all thoughts of an extended morning walk banished from her head. She wanted back inside where it was warm and dry.
As soon as I relieved her of the raincoat and used a doggy towel to wipe her feet [mostly] dry, Ronni raced up her ramp to the fleecy comforter on the bed, diving under it and curling into a tight ball.
By then, my water was hot, so I proceeded to make a tall 16 oz. mug of my favorite Arctic Wolf blend of coffee, using my pour-over cone and filter. I kid you not, this little set-up makes the BEST coffee, once you have the amount of grounds dialed in for your size mug. Just add hot water.
After placing my morning bran muffin in the microwave for 15 seconds (hey, I’m on shore-power today), I rattled Ronni’s food dish, which had her out from under the covers, zipping past me and rump-plopped on her “meals-mat” in mere seconds.
As she consumed her breakfast, consisting of kibble, two tablespoons brown rice and a short squirt of salmon oil, I gathered my coffee and warm muffin and retreated to the bed, where I prop myself up against pillows and snuggle under the comforter for an enjoyable half-hour of coffee and the still constant sound of rain on the roof.
All told, it took longer to write this down than it had to complete our little morning ritual. And yes, of course Ronni rejoined me under the comforter as soon as she finished breakfast. It’s what we do.