Critters and Walls

 

Skating librarian wrote

Whoa! You posted a lot earlier tonight. Well done. 

Yes, and then I haul everybody back to the cottage, go for another death-defying three-way hurtle, feed everybody sequentially, including eating an apple to calm my nerves, discover that my bed is covered with clean laundry dumped there hastily earlier in the day from the overhead airer in the bathroom which I need to do something with (preferably involving folding) if I want to sleep there . . . and half an hour later I find myself sitting on the floor reading a book I have no recollection of picking up, possibly covered with inquisitive hellhounds who think it’s odd I want to sit on the floor when there’s a perfectly good sofa downstairs* but hellgoddesses are whimsical creatures . . . and it’s silly o’clock again.

Most of this is just my life, aggravated by my lack of a sense of time, but there is one awkward fact which is that while the triple hurtle is clearly a good thing from a WE’RE ALL IN THIS TOGETHER, GET USED TO IT standpoint, I am not going even to think of attempting it when there’s any likelihood of anyone else around till . . . some substantial amount of time and mayhem has passed.  This means after midnight.  And I’m still a little worried about tonight and tomorrow since weekend revellers are often out till silly o’clock.  At least they don’t usually bring their dogs.

Although if we were actually going out the door at midnight that would be very good.  I’m working on it.

How about a writing break with some puppy pictures and one of the former wall?

I’m totally failing to get a good photo of the ex-wall.  I thought of this too of course—BLOG MATERIAL.  I’M ALWAYS LOOKING FOR BLOG MATERIAL—but it just doesn’t look shocking in the photos.  If I were a jazzier photographer I’m sure there are ways around this, but you know how photos tend to flatten things out—and all that dorking around with aperture and shutter speed to jigger with your depth of field is beyond me in these over-complex digital days—the photos just look like an apple tree a little distance in front of a house with a slightly odd, raggedy-edged frame between the two.  I suspect my apple tree of being the heroine:  from the gouges in her bark on the wall side, some of the wall tried to fall my way and was resisted by a little apple tree.  I hope they don’t cut into any important roots when they start digging out the footing of the ex-wall.

What I wish I could do is post a photo of my neighbour’s garden before the event, and now.  On my side it’s the apple tree and a few climbing roses and two or three clematis, and a lot of pots.  I’ve got a couple of broken pots but I think all the plants are rescuable (if presently a little confused).  On her side she had a stone-floored patio area (although the house is on the far side of the rest of her little garden), a lily pond with walls about two foot high and a built-up flowerbed ditto, plus an urn and a couple of pieces of rather nice statuary.  It’s all smoking rubble now.  But even if I could explain the concept of a blog to her—she’s a trifle old-fashioned—I wouldn’t post before-and-afters of someone else’s misfortune, however outstanding the blog material.  If it had happened on my side, you bet.  But all I’ve lost is some wall.  She’s the one with the story to tell.

The hellterror, now, hellterror photos I can do.   Tomorrow night will be Hellterror Photo Night.  Because I want to try to get out of bed early enough Sunday morning again to ring service at New Arcadia . . . and because it’s RAINING and the RAIN is supposed to go on being RAIN including the appurtenant effect of DISPOSING OF THE SNOW AND ICE which means I could finally get out of New Arcadia for the first time all week AND GO TO MY MONKS’ SATURDAY EVENING SERVICE, which is the one with the half hour of silent prayer before.  Maybe I’ll finally get back to Aloysius’ church on Sunday too.  I’m suffering withdrawal. **

* * *

* There would be a perfectly good bed if it weren’t covered with books and laundry.

** In terms of sheer church-servicery St Radegund has a totally functional brief prayer service at noon most weekdays but I can’t seem to remember this, except at teatime or later.  At noon I’ve been sitting by the Aga with the iPad for some time, and the only way to resist awareness that the hellhounds are beginning to wonder when they’re going to get a proper hurtle is by focussing intensely on what I’m doing.  This does not allow for remembering church services.  Besides, hellhounds would probably insist on coming too.^

^ The hellterror should be still sleeping off breakfast.