Bless modern technology.
Did I really say that? I believe I did. I have been away in the Caribbean for the past week, leaving Gill to post my previously written blogs. But nobody knew…or would have except that I think Gill screwed something up one day. Don’t know for sure. Don’t care…for I was in Paradise. Hot weather, beautiful white sand beaches, warm sea, good friends and a not inconsiderable amount of alcohol.
This morning, it’s back to reality. Laundry to do, things to put away, pets to tend to, gardening that can no longer be put off while blaming cold weather. It always takes me a day or so to re-acclimate to my surroundings. The house feels strange, smells strange (is that the faint odor of The Pig’s pee I smell or am I imagining things?), and looks strange. Well, wouldn’t you be taken aback to find a bed frame sitting in the middle of your bedroom? And despite my stern warning ‘don’t kill any of the pets’, I arrived home to find one old canary on the bottom of his cage, apparently on his way to the Grim Reaper. This morning, however, he rallied and was last seen having a bath. Surely the nearly defunct don’t bathe. I like to flatter myself by attributing his revival to my return, that he was pining for me…but even I am not THAT dumb.
Mrs. Beeton was delighted to see me again. She has been singing and twittering for me non-stop this morning. I suspect she is trying to impress me and butter me up so I’ll take her out for deck time today. She, of all the inhabitants in this house, has suffered most from cabin fever with our interminable winter. Plus, she needs the gentle spring breezes to blow off the stink and dust in her feathers.
My first glimpse of The Pig as I entered the front door was when she lifted her head from her sleeping spot on the living room sofa. When she realized who it was, she jumped from the couch with her tail wagging and smile at its fullest to greet me. She walked through the kitchen garbage she had recently raided…a statement raid. I later learned from L’il Sis that, despite the extra nature walks and excursions during my absence, the chicken soup I had made in advance and the attentions from our neighbours, she was a study in dejection all week. Nothing could lift the depression she was feeling over the ‘abandonment’ by Grandma. I am realistic enough to realize it wasn’t my sparkling personality that she wanted — just my food scraps. When I snack, she snacks. This week she was limited to her soup and regular meals of dry kibble. Oh, how she suffered! To hear L’il Sis tell it, she was one step away from a Prozac prescription. Or an Oscar for her performance of ‘poor woebegone beagle’. She is now back to following my every move.
My return coincided with the long weekend and everyone in the neighborhood was planting trees, flowers, dragging bags of mulch around. My lawn is abloom with the ground cover ‘crop circles’ that appear every spring. Blue, purple, pink flowers fight for dominance with the daisy clumps. My lawn gave up the ghost years ago and now I just pretend that this ‘naturalized look’ was intentional. The only problem is that when the blooms fade, I need something along the lines of an industrial-grade machete to mow everything down. A mere lawn mower doesn’t stand a chance. And although L’il Sis and Crazy D live here, they refuse to mow down even the dandelions since ‘they look so pretty’. I wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbours put a hit out on us. If I were smart, I’d beat them to it.
Oh, well. The week in the sun has addled my brain and mellowed me out…or perhaps it was all the margueritas under the palm trees.