I woke around 2 or 3 listening. That was a real thump in the room below. Maybe a quiet door closing? We dont really have many doors downstairs. One that squeaks loudly and one that's locked. What was it then? Should I go down?
I must defend the farmhouse against invaders! (Ed is still sleeping in the sheep shed because of my Covid.)
I get up, walk slowly toward the stairs thinking -- I should have a weapon with me. (Subsequently I thought the best weapon would always be my phone, ready for an SOS call. I mean, it's not as if I'm going to pick up a kitchen knife and stab an intruder. Or am I??)
I walk down. Slowly.
Suddenly everything is very still. I know I have interrupted something. Oh please, let it not be a skunk from the porch! We've suspected that some animals go there at night to raid the remains of the cat food dish that we leave out for Pancake, the most feral of our feral cats. What if said skunk entered the house??
I turn on the lights. There are three cats: Dance, Friendly and Unfriendly. The ones that sometimes do come in to sleep downstairs. They are all sitting up on alert. What the hell is going on here??
I look under couches, behind doors. I flip switches on, half wondering where this courage is coming from. If someone is in the house, I should hightail it out of here!
I find nothing and no one.
* * *
In the morning, I'm coming down at my usual time. A cat is meowing for food, another is watching me, waiting (for what?). I glance at the carpet. Oh yuk! A decapitated animal. Only the head remains, and some apparently untasty inside organs. I can't get myself to examine the details. Dead animals don't necessarily gross me out, but we have a strict division of labor here: disposal of them? That's Ed's job!
Ed!
The sweet guy has been doing morning chicken duty for me (I mean, he's right there, next to them. Besides, he's been dealing with racoon issues as well -- so far our hens have escaped their sharp claws. Wait, did someone say that taking care of animals is fun??). I call him in and he deals with the mess while I go out to snip lilies.
And there are many spent flower heads (though a few dozen less than yesterday). Hundreds of them, among dense swarms of mosquitoes. We are going to spray garlic on the mosquitoes this Thursday!
On the upside, all those spent lilies speak to that abundance of color that is so characteristic of July. And indeed, this morning as well, it's absolutely lovely out in the flower fields! (The photos are, of course, always after Ive snipped off yesterday's loot.)
(a chicken, exploring, tasting...)
* * *
Ed and I eat breakfast on the porch. Together. At a distance still.
But not for long! Today I came in with my first *negative* Covid test! Covid infectiousness usually lasts between five and ten days from the onset of symptoms. Typically if you have a mild-moderate case, it's closer to five-seven days, if you have a more severe case, it's closer to ten, and if it's totally dire it can go on for even longer. I'm on day six today. A negative test is a real plum, because oftentimes you remain positive even if you are no longer contagious, leaving you in a total quandary as to how to proceed. Happily I am not in that camp! Now, no rebound please!!!
* * *
How is it that I missed World Chocolate Day (this past Sunday)? Must have been the Covid fog. I'm not a chocoholic by any means, but I do have a square or two, these days milk over dark, unless it's a truffle or an infused ganache, each evening, so I give chocolate shopping a lot of thought. When you get older and realize you can't down so many calories anymore and still live to talk about it, you really pay attention to what you ingest. When Ed is on the couch with me in the evenings, we share the chocolate moment. A small detail perhaps, but it feels good to do this together.
And speaking of senior status (no, I'm not going to add to the political discussions taking place right now, though I must admit, I found Jon Stewart to be very very funny on this subject so if you want to laugh and cry all at the same time, you can listen and watch here) -- I have another thought about getting older: frailty is only embarrassing if the person who is indeed frail hasn't the perception that things (your movements, your thoughts, your sentences) aren't quite as cogent as they once were. And this leads me to think about Ocean: I'm 71. Will I know when ideas expressed here will become more and more... well, banal? I've heard very senior people state their convictions forcefully, wishing to communicate an idea that is rather, well, obvious even to a very young person. As I slip away into cerebral toddler-hood, will my daughters send each other texts like for instance -- wow, that's pretty embarrassing, her explanations about the earth being round and the sun setting to the west... Um, should we tell her that this is a known fact? No, no, let's leave her alone... it keeps her busy...
I recently read an article about Paul Theroux. Do you know him? He's a really famous author person and he's written a very large number of travel essays and books. Back in the days when I was too busy and too poor to travel much, I used to go to Borders (remember that book store?), pick up a couple of his books and leaf through them over a cup of coffee. Total immersion into travel through his stories. I imagined that someday, too, I should take that train across Siberia to Vladivostok. Well, Theroux is 83 now (the age either presidential presumptive nominee would be at in office if elected) and I read that he is in the middle of writing yet another travel book. One might say -- if he can write a book at 83, then one can lead the US at 83 um, sorry, I meant to say write a blog at 83. Except even in this slight shift -- from book authorship to blog writing -- there is a huge difference, because no one edits Ocean. I am 100% responsible for its content.
One of my daughters used to sweetly send me a text the morning after a post appeared indicating a need to make a spelling (or other some such) correction. She doesn't do that anymore, most likely because it happens too often. I do reread my words before publishing them, but believe me, rereading at 10 pm when you are 71 is like planning a trip five minutes before you board a plane: it's not going to come out perfect! (I often go back to a post the morning after and fix typos then. Lucky the person who reads it on the late side of the morning!)
I can see my girls sitting me down one day, say in ten years (when I'm 81), should I be lucky enough to still be around then, and doing the needed intervention: mom wom, perhaps you might want to switch to knitting?
* * *
I use the day to clean the house. Washing all linens, towels, etc, vacuuming, with windows wide open and fans blowing. Get those Covid particles out as much as possible!
And of course, after that, I need a rest.
(busy bees: lavender honey in the making)
I'm feeling very fortunate with this bout of Covid and happy that everything is moving in a good directions, against the backdrop of all those flowers...
with love...
