The nightly ritual
This is what my bedtime is like at our house....
After having fallen asleep in front of the TV, I rouse myself and turn off whatever's still blaring away. This is usually around 11:30 (yes, that's PM) and the wife's often already wandering thru dreamland.
Having turned off some facet of WWII or Egyptian tomb raiders or whatever there was that was on the History Channel, I drag my prodigious carcass from it's ensconsement in the recliner. The little cabinet light still illuminates the kitchen and beckons me to take the small pills I take each nite before I retire. I toddle out - perform that ingestion with the aid of some water, and then load the aging veteran of a coffee maker so that this vital accelerant will be ready when I return in about 7 hours.
Before I flip the light off, I pull a clean custard dish from the cupboard and fill it halfway with bottled water. Light off, I gingerly feel for the chair backs that guide me to the hall enterance as I head for the bedroom.
If I haven't already shut down my computer for the day, I duck into the office and attend to that. Buster Beak usually acknowledges my entry with a few quiet birdy grunts. As the screen goes dark, I turn to Buster and stroke his back a couple of times while telling him goodnight.
Next duty is bladder relief in the hall bathroom, and then a stop in the bedroom bath to brush my teeth and apply the nasal strip that makes it easier for me to breath at nite. Did I mention that the custard cup of water has accompanied me thru all these stops along the way?
The only light I have to assist my travels since shutting down the computer is a couple of dim night lights in the two bathrooms. But once in the bedroom bath, I close the door and put on the lights therein. Having attended to my rituals, I open the door only so much as I have to to exit into the darkened bedroom. The idea is not to disturb the wife's dozing, BUT... have enough light to see that the custard cup is put to good use.
As I emerge from the bathroom - cup in hand - there's a soft noise from the bed. The only description I can give is that it sounds a bit like a soft duck quack. This subdued quack or honk or whatever you wanna call it, announces the traverse of a dark figure that starts by the headboard of our bed and scurries to the foot of the bed where I've stopped and waited with the cup. My eyes having adjusted to the dim light, I can clearly see as Rosco stops and waits for my offering. He knows his nightly drink is in my hand, and as soon as I lower the cup, he dips his beak in for the first few hearty gulps. "Thirsty bird." I say softly. Usually, there's five or six of these slurpings before he bobs his head in characteristic fashion and gives my pinky a pinch as if it's some gesture of thanks. I pet him a few times, and tell him what a good bird he is. With that he turns tail (literally) and scurries back to his own towel-draped pillow. I praise him quietly and set what's left of the water on my nightstand. Then I pull the sheet back and slip into my side of the bed. I tell Rosco "goodnight", but we're not done just yet. He has to scamper over to my pillow for a bit of petting and a dash of head rubbing - then it's back to his spot without my having to tell him so.
Once he's back there, the soft kisses start to fly. We exchange them for a minute or so and then there's a couple of soft quacks. I return these goodnight wishes and we both go to sleep.
Even thru my tossings and turnings - as I try to find THE right spot to drift off - Rosco's not bothered. Nor does my nightly bladder trip interrupt his slumber. It's only when I sleep past MY regular wake-up time that Rocso macaw comes over and tugs at my fingertips. "C'mon dad, new day's dawnin'!" Rosco's my "alarm cock".
After having fallen asleep in front of the TV, I rouse myself and turn off whatever's still blaring away. This is usually around 11:30 (yes, that's PM) and the wife's often already wandering thru dreamland.
Having turned off some facet of WWII or Egyptian tomb raiders or whatever there was that was on the History Channel, I drag my prodigious carcass from it's ensconsement in the recliner. The little cabinet light still illuminates the kitchen and beckons me to take the small pills I take each nite before I retire. I toddle out - perform that ingestion with the aid of some water, and then load the aging veteran of a coffee maker so that this vital accelerant will be ready when I return in about 7 hours.
Before I flip the light off, I pull a clean custard dish from the cupboard and fill it halfway with bottled water. Light off, I gingerly feel for the chair backs that guide me to the hall enterance as I head for the bedroom.
If I haven't already shut down my computer for the day, I duck into the office and attend to that. Buster Beak usually acknowledges my entry with a few quiet birdy grunts. As the screen goes dark, I turn to Buster and stroke his back a couple of times while telling him goodnight.
Next duty is bladder relief in the hall bathroom, and then a stop in the bedroom bath to brush my teeth and apply the nasal strip that makes it easier for me to breath at nite. Did I mention that the custard cup of water has accompanied me thru all these stops along the way?
The only light I have to assist my travels since shutting down the computer is a couple of dim night lights in the two bathrooms. But once in the bedroom bath, I close the door and put on the lights therein. Having attended to my rituals, I open the door only so much as I have to to exit into the darkened bedroom. The idea is not to disturb the wife's dozing, BUT... have enough light to see that the custard cup is put to good use.
As I emerge from the bathroom - cup in hand - there's a soft noise from the bed. The only description I can give is that it sounds a bit like a soft duck quack. This subdued quack or honk or whatever you wanna call it, announces the traverse of a dark figure that starts by the headboard of our bed and scurries to the foot of the bed where I've stopped and waited with the cup. My eyes having adjusted to the dim light, I can clearly see as Rosco stops and waits for my offering. He knows his nightly drink is in my hand, and as soon as I lower the cup, he dips his beak in for the first few hearty gulps. "Thirsty bird." I say softly. Usually, there's five or six of these slurpings before he bobs his head in characteristic fashion and gives my pinky a pinch as if it's some gesture of thanks. I pet him a few times, and tell him what a good bird he is. With that he turns tail (literally) and scurries back to his own towel-draped pillow. I praise him quietly and set what's left of the water on my nightstand. Then I pull the sheet back and slip into my side of the bed. I tell Rosco "goodnight", but we're not done just yet. He has to scamper over to my pillow for a bit of petting and a dash of head rubbing - then it's back to his spot without my having to tell him so.
Once he's back there, the soft kisses start to fly. We exchange them for a minute or so and then there's a couple of soft quacks. I return these goodnight wishes and we both go to sleep.
Even thru my tossings and turnings - as I try to find THE right spot to drift off - Rosco's not bothered. Nor does my nightly bladder trip interrupt his slumber. It's only when I sleep past MY regular wake-up time that Rocso macaw comes over and tugs at my fingertips. "C'mon dad, new day's dawnin'!" Rosco's my "alarm cock".
