Sleepless Nights

One of the most annoying things I am dealing with these days is lack of quality sleep. I am surely not alone in this respect; we baby boomers are reaching the age of modern maturity where rest is crucial, and I for one don't like it. I get to sleep well enough. My wife and I are often down for the count by 9:00 p.m. Shock collars work wonders! It is not unusual for Laurie and I to be sound asleep by 10:00 p.m. We are early risers, however, and a 5:30 a.m. alarm is commonplace, so getting to sleep early is essential.

My problems usually begin sometime in the wee hours of morning, when strong urges to leave the comfort of my bed begin to creep into my consciousness. I move slowly, trying not to let myself wake fully. No lights are necessary, I have traversed this path so often that I know it by heart. Cats beware! A recent study I read in Lady's Home Journal says that if you turn on the lights in the middle of the night, it is much harder to get back to sleep. It is also said that if your cats nap in the middle of the hallway, they deserve to be stepped on.

I generally slip quietly back into bed, having managed not to upset the tranquil slumber of my roommate. I settle back into the warmth of the bed, hoping that I did not upset my spouse or stimulate unwanted synapsis. My body relaxes and is ready to resume the rest cycle. But my mind has begun to flicker, a spark has ignited, and triggered a thought. I wouldn't mind if this were not a regular occurrence, but it happens with such frequency that I am losing patience.

As you might guess, the trading post and its quirky nature is a central theme in these late-night wake fests. Whether wondering and worrying if Steve has completely lost his mind or is just lactose intolerant; hoping beyond hope that Elsie Holiday won't sink our financial boat by flooding it with her incredible cutting-edge artistry before the outside world recognizes her genius; or weighing the pros and cons of operating a business in the desolation and solitude of this desert oasis, I often ponder the consequences of what might happen if Bluff were "discovered." The thought of increased traffic and recognition to our tiny hamlet both excites and frightens me.

My most-recent point of early morning consternation has been how to help Alicia Nelson achieve her goal of gaining recognition for the advanced quality of baskets she is weaving. This young artist has lived and worked in the shadow of her famous relatives, the Mary Holiday Black family, far too long. She has often shared her frustration that collectors have not noticed the efforts she has made to improve her weaving quality. I believe that she is producing the finest three-rod Navajo baskets currently being woven. That fact, along with Alicia’s push to create intricate, symmetrical, and creative design, places her in the same class of hungry competitor as Mr. T in Rocky III. Her commitment and passion demand attention.

I know that it sounds silly to fuss, worry, and lose sleep over such matters. The plain and simple truth is that when you live around and work with such fine people, you become concerned for their well-being. The more I try to ignore the wants and needs of others, the more they work their way into my subconscious thoughts, causing me missed hours of rest and relaxation. It is a royal pain in the butooshka. The problem of sleepless nights for me has become a serious issue. My wife refuses to let me answer the phone after 10:00 p.m. because of my gruff nature and caustic remarks at being so rudely awakened. No problem. I now have caller ID so that those who wake me from an early bed time can be contacted later that same night when I can't get back to sleep. It gives me someone to share my misery with, and, just maybe, together we will solve some of my many dilemmas.