1.27.26 | Be Still My Pounding Heart
Kathunnk! Kathunk! Kathunk!
The noise rouses me in the blackness of early morning. My body turns, twists, rolls over and drifts listlessly back into the land of the nod. The black veil of R.E.M. overtakes me once more and I float away back into dreamland.
Kathunnk! Kathunk! Kathunk!
At this new cacophony, my trusty poodle, Jellybean, and I awaken, our eyes and ears alert to every sound. I fumbled for my phone in the dark as Jellybean makes wild sun salutations trying to shed herself of the pile of blankets, sheets, quilts, and duvets she buried herself under the night previous. My fingers fumble for my phone, find it, and punch the code into the screen. A flash of blinding phone light momentarily blinds me. The screen reads 5:30 AM.
Kathunnk! Kathunk! Kathunk!
At this, I jump into Jellybean’s arms Scooby Doo-style. Is it a mugger? A home intruder? An escaped mental patient? We put on our Charles Dickens-style nightcap and pajamas, light a candle and walk shakily towards the bedroom door. As the knocking comes again, I shudder and the candlelight flickers down the hallway, illuminating the faces in the pictures on the wall. Jellybean is on full alert, her curly little hackles are standing on end, her ears are back and she has one front paw up. She is ready to protect her Papa from whatever monsters may be lurking down the hall.
As the thudding comes again, Jellybean and I charge. Me with my candle ablaze, Jellybean showing off what teeth she still has left, we bound down the hallway towards the kitchen, towards the monster in the dark, the escaped convict, the wraith. Who do we find?......Becca, making puff pastry … at 5:30 In. The. Morning.
“Well I woke up, it was on my mind, so I got to work.” She pulls the cold folded dough out of the fridge and proceeds to hit it with her her giant rolling pin. Kathunk, kathunk, kathunk. Then she gives it a roll, lets it relax and then another beating. Kathunk, kathunk.
Jellybean and I pour ourselves a cup of coffee and dole out good morning kisses. Jellybeans heads out into the cold to say her good mornings to the neighbors and I plop down on the couch, cover myself in blankets and slowly sip my black gold as I come back to life. As the sun rises over House Mountain, the sand melts from my eyes and the puff pastry is puffed and pulled from the oven. The smell of baked goods and coffee fills the house.
Warm buttery puff pastry would absolutely hit the spot right now, maybe with a dab of jam, a smear of butter … or peanut butter for Mrs. Beans. But alas, I am shot down. The pastry isn't for the poodle and me. I resign myself back to the couch and the coffee and go over my prep list for the day. Crisis averted.
—Matt