An Adventure Story

A while ago, I don’t know, maybe two or three weeks ago, one of the roosters had something sticky stuck to his feathers and the only way to remove it without hurting the bird was to cut  the feathers. Easy enough. Because it was cold, I put on my multi-purpose coat I always wear when I have to do things outside , in winter, when I am home. I brought  out the scissors, cut the feathers, job’s done.  Put the scissors on a table outside because I had to do something and could not go in the house to return it to a safe place so we can find it easily the next time we need it. End of story.

Sometime later, because of an event at school, I had to go to the city and refill my laser printer cartridge. The last time I had done that was at the end of May 2015, and , as things usually are, when you need something the most it will find a way to break or need refilling. The bus must've come a few minutes early because I had to wait an hour in the station until another bus came that only took me in the next town where I jumped into a car with the same destination as me. (there’s a lot of hitchhiking going on in my world. Worth talking about some other time.)

In town, because the guy at the shop wasn’t coming until noon to refill my cartridge, I went shopping. And I say a really nice Ficus Benjamina that I regret to this day not buying it. A few years back, when I was in college, I was in a supermarket when I saw a Benjamina and instantly fell in love with it. So deeply that I spent the last money I had on me to buy it, risking to get stranded in a strange city at night with no place to sleep.  It wasn’t expensive, the risk of not catching the bus home was higher. I loved that plant. However, I didn’t know at the time how to properly take care of it and, about a year and a half later, it died. I had always wanted a Ficus and now I have one, a Ficus Elastica, you know, the broad leaved, giant-growing type. However, ever since I saw that Benjamina I am determined the buy on in spring, of the first chance I get. I have learned a lot of things about plant growing since that unfortunate moment years ago.

Back to the actual story…

So, the event at school involved a lot of paper. Some of that paper needed to be cut into certain shapes and sizes. With a scissors. That I could not find. Before this school thing, I needed the scissors to cut open a few bags of pasta, some other ingredients for cooking, I looked for it, didn’t find it, resolve to using a knife. Cutting the papers the way I wanted, though, required a fine instrument made for just that. Definitely not a knife.

So I looked for the scissors. That day when I had put it on the table was long in the past. And it wasn’t there, as expected. Things rarely stay in the same place where you put them. Someone always comes and put them somewhere else. It is a universal rule. I assumed Mom took the scissors so she was the first person I asked where is it. She didn’t know. I looked all over the kitchen, maybe it was covered by something, maybe someone put it behind a flower pot or it fell on the floor and got swept under the couch. (Thing also have a tendency to disappear under furniture. Case-in-point, Mom’s hat. She bought it one day, she lost it the next, and we could not find in for a whole year. Can you guess where it was?) I looked in all the drawers in the house next. All of them, even in those I knew for sure in could not be. You know how it is when you lose something. Must look everywhere, including/especially in the place it could not possibly be, because a) you never put it there, b) it could not possibly fit in that place, c) because you remember one time putting it there but it may actually be a similar object or it happened several years ago, d) some other stupid reason to waste your time.

In the end I borrowed a pair of scissors from a kid at school and cut my papers the day before the event.

A few days later, I decided to spend my free time doing some cross stitching. I do that from time to time. It is calming. It keeps me from doing stupid things and it is also addictive because once I start I find it very difficult to stop. But I love it. Don’t know how other peoples do it, but in my world there is this custom that on March 1^st and 8^th of every year to offer people tokens that celebrate the coming of spring. There’s a big thing about this holiday. In the second half of February the markets and all shops are full of such tokens – basically, some good luck charm, tiny doll, a plastic flower that has attached to it a red and white string. (I will probably do an post on the subject when the time comes.)

Anyway, because I find the tokens they make nowadays quite tacky and totally ugly, and because I really love cross stitching , I decided to make my own small gifts. For that I needed a special type of cloth that needed to be cut into the needed shapes and sizes. And for that I need a pair of scissors.

That is why I started the search again. First I asked Mom,  then I looked through the same places as before even if I knew for sure this time I will not find it anywhere in them. Meantime, I found the bag of thread balls that I would need and decided to see what new colors should I buy. You can never have enough of them. That is where I found another scissors, a small one that was intended for nails (at least that is how it was sold in the shop) that I use for plants and sewing and that I had lost about a year ago and had given up the search. Problem solved.

I gave up on my scissors and decided to buy a new one and take better care of it in the future. Maybe install a tracking device on it , just in case.  In fact, I was in the shop yesterday and was thinking of buying one but I ended up getting a stapler. Not because I forgot or I didn’t have enough money. It was mostly because I didn’t want to open my mouth a third time and ask “Do you have scissors?”  Noooo. I talked a lot about the stapler and about finding the right kind of staples but not about the scissors. I thought, I’ll get one next time I come by.

In conclusion, I am the proud owner of a stapler that has the right type of stapes.

Yesterday evening, because it was cold I put on my coat and went to get some water from the well. Because it was cold I decided to put on gloves. Being a practical person at times (and because I find it easier to find them) I keep the gloves in one of the 5 pockets my wonder coat has. I usually put them in the same right side pocket but I deviate from time to time, that is why, last night when I decided to put them on , I searched both pockets at the same time. With the right hand I took out the pair of gloves, and with the left, what do you know? a pair of scissors I had never left on that table two or three weeks ago. My guess, just a memory from who knows when.  My sister asked “Do you ever use those pockets?”  I said no. It's the truth.

In retrospect, I was wearing the coat while I was looking for the scissors. For weeks, I wore that coat every day.

The lesson? Things just like to hide from you. And they laugh their hearts out because you are too stupid to find them.

Too much thinking

It is 6 a.m. and I am angry. Haven’t slept properly in two days. Some sort of headache and a touch of fever. And a lot of thoughts that won't give me peace. But mostly the headache.  Perhaps the cold has finally got me. Perhaps it is because I should spend more time outside in the fresh, albeit freezing, air. Could be something else entirely. I am thinking I should do more exercising. Do stuff that involves using many muscles. That is the fate of people who prefer thinking over moving. So I am angry because it is cold and I have to get out of bed when I finally started to relax. Took me forever to fall asleep last night. I am angry at the phone because it did exactly what I, in a moment of lucidity, programmed it to do. It forced me to leave the warmth of my covers, get dressed and leave the house hours before any rays of light from the sun showed their face in my corner of the planet.

Mom urges me to hurry because I will miss the bus. I know I won't because it is only 6.08 and the bus never, ever comes before 6.30 a.m.. But mom is the kind of person who thinks being on time means arriving half an hour early. The practice rubs on me so I get fearful sometimes. What if the bus will come earlier. Just to spite me. Today, of all days, when I have to be on time and there are no other busses to take me there by 8.30. My fear is that it was so cold over night the driver will not be able to start the bus and won’t come at all. Coming late is no problem. It is better than not at all.

I close the front gate behind me and trudge down the road. The bus station is almost half a kilometer from my house. I must first reach the main road, that is 250 meters ( I know the exact distance because there’s 50 meters between two electricity poles, and I pass by 5 of them). Once I reach the main road I am safe, I can signal the bus to stop if I haven't reached the station.

A little bit down the road I hear an engine in the distance. I look towards the bus station. I haven't reached the trees, I can still see all the way there. A vehicle that looks like a bus slows down close to the station. It is white. My heart starts to pound. What am I gonna do if I miss it? How am I gonna get there by 8.30? I start to run, all this time thinking the bus is always red so why am I running? This could be another car. But why has it stopped in the bus station? I try to keep my mouth closed while running. Too cold outside. I really like my voice just the way it is and certainly do not miss a sore throat. I run, even after the bus-looking vehicle speeds in front of me, no chance in hell of catching it. My mind starts to process. What to do? What to do? I will wait until something comes, anything, that will take me to my dentist’s appointment, 48 kilometers west of my town, in the county capital. Why couldn’t I have chosen someone closer? We have a dentist in our town. That easy. Or, there is one in a neighboring town....  Well, wouldn’t be me if I took the easy road. (The real reason is that I wanted quality and from what I heard from patients of our local dentist, she was not for me.) Anyway, I run, I reach the main road and I am relieved, there are some people in the bus station which means the bus is yet to come.

It is still night. Snowed a bit. Not enough to protect the plants in the garden from frost. I like it all the same. It looks good in the bus’ headlights. I love travelling in the dark. It brings back interesting memories. A few years back, when I had to commute 80 kilometers almost every day from one town to another, most of the return home trips happened at night. I sometimes stood in a bus full of people for the duration of the ride , two hours, but I had my headphones on and none of it mattered. I had listened to many hours of The Once and Future King and loved every moment of it. There is something about that book that is just too good to be able to describe.

This time the bus was full but I had a seat of my own. I don’t remember the last time I had to stand on a trip. People do not travel as much as they used to on public transportation. They either have cars of don’t have the money.

I like travelling at night because it opens up my mind. I usually take to time to work out plot details from my stories. Sometimes, my mind just wonders off, depending on the music I have.  Can’t wonder of too far with Adele’s album because I cannot relate a personal experience with any of the songs. You know how it is sometimes, lyrics aren't always important. If the music makes you feel good, that is all that matters.

In any case, I was looking at the road ahead  as soon as the bus left the areas with public illumination and plunged into the heavy darkness of night I wondered what would it be like if zombies suddenly appeared on the road. (Six seasons on The Walking Dead can do that to a highly imaginative person.)  I could almost see them  being hit by the bus. I hope the driver will be able to keep his cool and move on.

Then, without warning I am thinking of ordering some bulbs for spring as soon as they become available. I saw a few rare lilies on a website. I must have them.  I always think about that. I will not stop until I order some.

But what if we are run over by zombies? What then? What will happen to my cats? (I don’t recall seeing any cats on TWD. I wonder why. Have they all died? Are they in hiding?)

I arrive in town around 7.40. Have time to go to the market and buy some winter gloves, the kind you can work with in the cold. They said it was gonna snow this week. Not much, but it will. I have time to take a town bus to the dentist. She sees me at 8.15. Finish by 8.50. It feels weird to have something in your mouth after so many months of getting used to without it. But it is good. I will go back in the spring for more work. It is good to take care of your teeth.

It is snowing in town. Also, there is this killer wind. Not powerful, just freezing. I have to get back to the market and get mom some kitchen towels. She insisted. Said she’ll kill me if I don’t get her a few. Buy a few bathroom towels for me as well. Cannot hurt and I like what I see.

I look at my phone. The shopping list is short but not from this part of the town. Must go back the way I came from the dentist. To do that, I must take a town bus again. To get to the bus station I must walk through the flowers market and make a shocking discovery. All they have on display are funeral decorations. I am thinking: many people die during winter. ‘Cause it’s too darn cold.

 

The rest of the story is boring. The next bus home, the same with which I came, is heading back at 1 p.m.. It is only 10.00 a.am.. I can get warm wondering through three supermarkets near the bus station. I can go through the shopping list then just relax.

An hour and a half later I call mom to tell her I am bored to death and very tired of pushing the cart around the supermarket. I ask her if she wants something else. To give me purpose for another 5 minutes. Then it is back to boredom.

I discover toys can be creepy.

 

I remember I want new dust bins. New energy for me. Soon to go away when I discover I don’t like any of the ones I see on display. Perhaps they don’t make them the way I want them anymore. I give up. I know a place that has a much bigger offer but I will not go there until close to spring. That is when they bring bulbs and new plants for me to buy. I have many interesting cacti from there.

On the road back, poor Adele sings to no one because I fall asleep and don’t remember hearing a few of the songs. It is good, I guess. I always feel better after a nap on the bus. I notice it snowed some more during my absence and I take a few pictures of the road that takes me home. I do it now because I know I will be too lazy to walk all the way here for a picture then go back. Though I should, it is good for one’s body. And what can be better than a stroll during winter? The air could not be cleaner. Maybe later.

 

Change of date

What is New Year’s exactly if not just a change of date. One day is December, the next is January, one day is a year, the next another. If we were to celebrate every change of date like we celebrate the coming of New Year… I do not want to imagine that. In fact, I cannot. Knowing what a big fuss is just one day like this, having 365 of them is my idea o f hell. I still do not understand, however, why are humans so interested in this particular day of the year.

 In my world, there are a bunch of traditions that need to be kept otherwise you will fall into the pit of despair, solitude, starvation and bankruptcy. You have to  - no, you MUST have on you dinner  table all sorts of foods and drinks, pork, fish, wines and other alcoholic beverages, sweets, and let’s not forget money and grapes.

I know one of my neighbors is obsessed about having grapes on the New Year’s dinner table otherwise his head will explode or something. I am pretty sure I saw him yesterday in a shop I was in buying some. Also yesterday, I saw way too many people pushing each other at the single man that came with fruits at the market. Poor guy was overwhelmed. But people need oranges, bananas, apples, and whatnot so the new year catches them with plenty of everything. It doesn’t matter the rest of the year they have very little of everything, if they  have these things now all will be fine. And here’s a question that is bothering me. If they are so into having fruit on New Year’s, why not plant an apple tree in their garden, and a grape vine that can be kept for longer periods of time? And pears, and quinces, and plums. I understand they can’t have orange trees, that is okay, but the rest  are easy to take care of. One apple tree can give a small family fruit for the whole winter. I know ‘cause we are a small family and we have at least 2 mature apple trees and who knows how many young fruit bearing trees that live in our Eastern European climate.

And the foods. Oh my, the foods. Must definitely have certain types of foods otherwise you risk starvation in the next year. One of the things that is sort of traditional in our country is something called Beouf Salad, loosely translated Beef salad. I think it comes from French.  My mom is making it right now, on the first day of 2016, not three days before New Year’s Eve like the rest of the world. It is the easiest thing in the world to prepare, albeit it takes a lot of time. Basically, take a bunch of potatoes, carrots, a can of precooked peas if you can’t make your own, a lot of pickled peppers and cucumbers, whole olives, boiled eggs for their white, boiled meat – we use any bird meat because you would never catch us eat beef, not even with a shotgun to our head. This year she boiled a Muscovy Drake. We had a few and he was rather mean to the chicken so he had to go. Fear not, she did not boil it alive, or whole. Bits and pieces.  Anyway, you take these ingredients, potatoes, carrots, meat, pickles, chop them up really small, mix with the peas, make sure there is no juice left in the pickles and peas, then you mix with mayo, put in the olives as they are and place everything on a large plate where you try to give it the shape of a cake. Cover all this with more mayo if you have enough, then ornate with pickled red pepperoni, the white from the boiled eggs, olives, and, my favorite, parsley leaves. (still had some in the garden and I decided, a few days ago, to pick it even if it was mighty cold outside, I could not feel my hands and one of my cats was in the mood to play and started attacking me. The look of surprise and content on Mom’s face this morning when I brought her the bag of parsley was priceless. Then she made me wash it and all the joy faded. – have you ever washed curly-leaved parsley? Ain’t fun. But it looks wonderful.

In any case the salad is delicious. We only make it at special occasions, not because we don’t like it, but because it takes a century to make it. The decorating takes a few decades alone.  I suspect I will soon be called to do it. Or not. I am thinking of letting her and my sister do the job this year. They always make me do it. Sometimes I insist I do it. It is so confusing. J

I suppose I could talk for hours about foods made for New Year’s. The problem is that, except this salad, we don’t follow the norm that much. Yes, mom likes to cook things, but, then again she does that year round, always making something more. You’d think she wants to fatten us up or something.

The holidays traditions for us are rather off the books. Just the fact that she is making the salad today would be frowned upon. Lucky her, no one except  us knows the secret. Mostly because the winter holidays for us are a private affair. Just the three of us. Nice and quiet. Without interference from the loud world outside. There is enough noise the rest of the year. My sister and I have made a tradition of our own. Don’t know when or why it started but, on every New Year’s Eve we stop doing what we are doing around midday and go watch a movie of our choice. During this movie, we enjoy the delicious eggplant salad and open up a bottle of very sweet wine I buy a month ahead to make sure we have at least one bottle available. (This year was particularly difficult to find. It is also a bit expensive, but worth it.) (The eggplant salad if made from our garden, when the eggplants are ready, we cook them on the stove as they are, peel off the burnt crust them freeze them until we need them. After they thaw completely, let the sticky juice out then chop the eggplants into a fine paste. Peel a few onions, raw, chop them as fine as you can and throw them in the mix with oil and some salt. When we take a portion on the plate we mix it with mayo. Serve with plenty of bread. )

To be honest, New Year’s Eve for us is a day like any other. Chicken and ducks need feeding, warm water and fresh straw. The cats were particularly needy and we let them in the house for a few hours. (We don’t normally allow the cats inside because mom doesn’t like them and because they are naughty.) The dog needs feeding; the coops need cleaning. Those sorts of things that need to be done every day of the year, with few variations depending on the season. However, we have these little traditions make the day a bit different. After all chores are done, we have another movie to watch that we make sure to end before midnight.  This year’s pick was Ant-Man, of all. It is a surprising choice because, when my sister learned they were going to make a movie with this title she immediately decided it was going to be the worst movie of all time. We were going to watch it anyway, because we watch all the Marvel movies – mostly because of me – and she had no choice. At the end of the movie, back in October, she decided it was brilliant and that we were going to watch it again on New Year’s Eve. So, yeah… there are happy endings to strange stories after all.  

Keeping with our nice and quiet holidays, we climbed the hill in our garden and watched the fireworks over the village. Not as many as last year but the ones closest were nice.

There is no reason to celebrate the coming of a new year, from my perspective, because it is nothing but another step towards us being older. And who’s to say it will be e a better year? Just because of all the wishes we say or text one another? People should remember that to actually produce a change for the better in their lives, they must work for it.  Nothing ever comes for free. Everything has a price and, when the time comes, we must be ready to pay it.

In the meantime, if we can squeeze a few moments of fun and good memories with the people closest to you, go for it. We can never know what is going to happen tomorrow. We might all freeze to death.

‘cause it’s damn cold outside.

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Here are a few of the Beouf salad decorations from previous years.

Good ol' days...

Ever happen to have a person from your past that you would both want to see after many years and at the same time rather not see? It’s confusing, right? Especially if those people meant something to you at one point in life, a good friend, a relative, someone you loved. Especially if you parted on good terms. In fact, you just stopped seeing each other because your lives took you on different paths and SOMEONE really doesn’t have a clue how to keep in touch with people. Or see the point in doing that until it is too late.
I had a few mates in high school and college that I actually liked to hang out with. (Sort of. I am a terrible hanging out material. ) Then high school ended, college too, and I just lost them on the road, never to see them again. I admit, I met a few of my high school classmates over the years, brief encounters that can be resumed in a few questions I get asked. What have you been doing? You work at school now? What do you teach? Have you heard anything about the others? To which I answer, sincerely, Fine, yes, English, no. And that is it. Because you will not catch me ask them anything about their lives. Not that I wouldn’t want to know. Or that I don’t know it is the polite thing to do. I know most of the social norms.  I just don’t ask people things like that. I don’t even know why.
Recently, I do not recall the circumstances, I befriended a former college mate on a social network. It should have been a happy occasion. I finally got in touch with her after a while but we have never talked, I mean actually talked, apart from occasionally commenting on pictures or wishing her Happy Birthday and her thanking me. Why is that? Why am I like that? The same happened with another college mate that found me on the same social network. It is like building a house you never live in. You have a chair and probably, but not necessarily, a table in it but you never, ever go to that place. Don’t let anyone live in it either. You just have it.  Or having that drawer full of stuff you just don’t want to throw out.

I admire people who manage to keep in touch with childhood friends. Who insist on keeping the connection alive even if distance comes in their way, even if the paths they are on rarely intertwine. I suppose it is not that difficult if you are wired that way. I keep in touch with my primary and grammar school desk mate and, back then, closest friend, but only because she happens to be my neighbor and I don’t exactly have a choice, nor an excuse not to. I can tell her things I wouldn’t tell many people but there is a limit. And if I or her moved from the neighborhood to a far away place we would never speak again. Not because of her, because of me. Because this is how I am wired.

I have recently experimented, however,  keeping in touch with people. I am terrible at it because of my tiny, itsy-bitsy social awkwardness problem. It is very possible that all this is just in my imagination but I doubt it. Has it ever happen to you to feel, even if just a little bit, uncomfortable with the people you know?  And, at the same time, feel perfectly fine in the company of strangers?

As far as classmates I haven't seen in years, I prefer to remember them as they were back then. Life has a funny way of changing people, not always in better versions of them.  I guess it is a good thing  I will not have children of my own because I could never stand the transformation from the relatively innocent life of a child to that of an adult. I find it difficult to imagine my students growing up, having a family of their own and all that. It is inevitable, I know that, but it doesn’t make it less weird for me.

That is why I do not want to meet people I left in the past even if I would love to know how they are doing. From afar. After all, what is in the past must remain there. We should focus on somehow keeping the present.  And put some effort into the future.

Christmas

Mom asked me to find one of her CDs earlier. She said it was in a white envelope , in a pile of other CDs in white envelopes.  Easy enough, I thought. But no. It was not. Because Mom kept asking every thirty seconds if I found it. Because  she failed to mention a very important detail, that the name of the artist was written on the envelope, I turned on the laptop and started checking each disk. “Do I have to come find it myself?” mom asked impatiently.  Could have taken me forever if she hadn’t told me about the name of the artist being written in pencil. By me. A few years ago. I don’t remember certain details from the day before, let alone a few years ago. Wasn’t important enough to remember, I guess.

Christmas day began much better than that, though. From the moment I woke up, two thoughts took turns in occupying my mind. One was the fact that I finally finished typing Book Two of my novel. Writing it on paper first is great but when it comes to copying the text onto the computer… all those ideas of improvements and little changes to slow me down. The second thought was of what a socially retarded person I am. I mean, I have next to no social skills to speak of and everything I do when I am around people that are not my immediate family feels strange and I am most likely making a fool of myself.  Again and again and again. Of the two thoughts I chose the first because it is happier and it also leads me to a third – starting work on Book Two.

Crappy weather, episode 4569 and a half, continues.  Ground a little frozen, fog, no snow. On December 25^th. It is absolutely fantastic.

There are probably a million other things to complain about. We all do it.

Mom is pleased now. Music is playing. By the time I found the CD she said she didn’t want it anymore. I gave it to her anyway.

Then I look outside and see only darkness. What kind of winter is this? It may seem like a blessing but it is not. The world is messed up. Just yesterday when I went to the vet, a woman asked for something against mites in the chicken coops. Mites were never a problem during winter. Too cold for them. Not now. It’s spring for them. After a relatively cold and wet autumn, now is heaven. I think I saw someone posting pictures of blooming spring flowers somewhere. In the garden.

Where are the old, normal winters? The shoveling of snow to make pathways, the loaded trees, the cats swimming in seas of white after sparrows they will never catch.

Years ago, the road would fill with snow and had to work hard to get somewhere outside our yard. Not long ago, one of my Muscovy ducks flew into a neighboring garden and I had to put on snow boots and spent half an hour trying to catch her. She was light and even though tired kept running, helped by her wings. I was tired as hell from swimming into knee deep snow for that long but loved every minute of it. Once, I built a huge imaginary castle in the hill in front of our house. The top is like a platform and  I trampled the thick coat of snow into hallways and rooms, drew flowery models of the edges, stuck reeds for mighty columns at the doors. Strangely enough, I remember with the same fondness the time when I slipped on ice and cracked my right collarbone in the first year of highschool. It was the last day of the winter vacation. Had to stay home two more weeks because of the cast. What did I do the second the cast was off? Went to walk on steeper  and more slippery ice. This is winter for me. Deeper back in time, in the middle of January, a spell of warm air must’ve blown in our direction because the deep snow melted on the road, just the surface , then when sub-zero temperatures returned it froze over and I disappeared for a day with most of the kids in the neighborhood  and our sleighs. A whole day of super speed, over and over again.

One of my fondest memories of college takes place in winter. At the end of it, to be precise. I was at college, it was my birthday and I really wanted to be home. The last bus was at 6.30 p.m.. I caught it. It was snowing heavily. Giant snowflakes you do not see often.  I simply love travelling by bus at night. I loved it even more when, half way through the distance, we had to stop because a man waved at us to stop on top of a hill. Two 18-wheelers had slipped in the snow in the valley and could not move. They also blocked the road with their cargo. We waited. And waited. And waited. Seems like something extremely boring for some I suppose. Not for me. It was an adventure. It didn’t matter I got home over an hour later than supposed to. Best birthday ever!!!

Recently, I was at school. All roads had been declared closed because of the blizzard. The school is five kilometers from my home. Some of the students had longer distances to get to their homes. The school bus tried to take some of us to safety but at one point it broke. So we boarded into a large bus and tried to fight Mother Nature. While waiting for my turn on a bus I went to buy cakes for home – a syrupy delicacy with walnut pieces on top. About half a kilometer from my house the bus ended up in a ditch and they called for machines from a neighboring village for help. I have no clue why I stayed in the bus for half an hour before I had the brilliant idea to get off, put on the hood of my winter coat and simply walk home. So what if the winds were blowing all the snow in my face?

That is why I wonder. Will we ever have winters like that? Yeah, it is hard. It is  also beautiful in a twisted kind of way.

My sister is preparing the grill now. I can smell it from outside. The cats are circling around her, full of hope in their little stomachs. They will get their share soon enough. They always do.

The fog is back and the world is finally quiet. I like this about my holidays. I get to choose who I meet and if I want to see anyone. Right now, I am happy where I am, home, alone. But no, I am not alone. I have a whole world inside my head. I know delving deeper into it will only distance me more from the real world and I will never have the social skills I should have but I don’t care. As long as I don't hurt anyone, it shouldn't matter.

Food for thought (some holiday cheer...)

I went to the dentist yesterday. I was scheduled at 3.40 pm. Had to take the bus to town at 1 pm to get in time and do some holiday shopping – or rather said stuff we actually need on any given day not just at Christmas.  The scenario was not new. Have done the same things several times in the past few weeks, even the part about meeting a former student in the bus station going in the same direction.

Had my Loreena McKennit selection ready and I was listening, as I always do when I go on a longer than five minutes bus drive, on my headphones, thinking about new ways to put my characters from a book that happens after the one I am currently working on in danger; or fix their problems. My mind works well with music. It can go into a myriad of places given the right kind of music. I praise the guy (or guys) who invented music. Those primitive people who discovered pounding animal skins  and who knows what else they used actually make for  beautiful sounds are my heroes.

I was listening to Caravanserai when the bus had to stop. The first thing I noticed was the ambulance lights. Then the crowd, mostly kids, some adults. Then the police. A girl, most likely younger than me, was taking pictures of the numbered signs an older officer placed on the road for her.

Some of the passengers got out of the bus. . A few started smoking (‘cause they wanna die young.) Even the driver got off, talking on the phone. The next song started slow so I was able to hear him saying that there had been an accident and he will be late.

In all this time, the one thing I noticed in the distance was a spot on the side of the road that was shinier than others.  Something liquid had been spilled there recently, on the black ground. But the girl kept taking pictures of apparently nothing in the road then of a car parked on the other side from us.  From all angles. From everywhere. And two guys were holding something that looked like a giant measuring instrument.  She was moving very quick.

An elderly policeman signaled all the cars that came behind us, my bus was first in line, to pull over and wait. In front, the line was getting longer from the other direction.

I didn’t take my headphones on for one second the whole time. I even took a few pictures from my window. A very boring landscape. I should have gotten off the bus and taken pictures of what was going on in front. Of the police at work. Of the crowd. Of that shiny  wet spot the girl went to photograph from all angles and a guy measured it with a smaller ruler. But I didn’t. I knew what was going on, I knew what the wet spot was and, contrary to my instinct to take photos of everything out of the ordinary, I refrained myself.

After a while I was wondering if I will get in time for my dentist’s appointment. Almost decided to take off my headphones to hear what was going on when the driver sprinted towards the bus along with the other passengers that were out. And off we went.

The wet shiny spot was on my side of the bus and I looked. Not exactly as I imagined it would be but at least it was what I had guessed in my mind and decided to ignore. A large pool of coagulated blood. It looked like a mass of dark red jelly, I suppose, and, as I passed by it and looked, I was only reminded how fragile we really are. On the surface, humans seem invincible but we are just bags of bones, flesh and blood.

I think about these things sometimes. I don’t know how many people do. Could be many, could be a few.  Never been exposed to mortality like that before though. That sticky red gelatine was once part of a living body. And now it was out.  (the following day I learned an old lady had been hit and killed by that orange car. )

I believe I watch a fair amount of violent and bloody movies and television shows.  I hear people being terrified by horror movies, having nightmares and such.  I watched stuff like that from an early age and I think I am somewhat immunized  at this point. I simply am not impressed. I can see all the blood in the world, entrails and brains and have no reaction at all. (okay, maybe only The Walking Dead can stir fear in my stomach but that does not mean I am gonna stop watching. On the contrary.) When the situation requires, I even get to write disturbingly violent scenes with my characters.  My indifference is probably a result of the fact I know they are not true. None of it. And I know it.

That pool of blood on the side of the road was very real though. Too real.

Like most things, I don’t wanna think about it. Just imagine what would it be like if everyone stared thinking about their own mortality all of a sudden. No shrink in the world can fix that. The fear of our own ending, only topped by the fear of  a loved one’s end.

Such happy thoughts one day before Christmas Eve. Maybe I need a shrink. Though, I already have one. It is very cheap. You only need a few things: a notebook and a pen. Or anything you can write on.

Anyway, I arrived on time at the dentist but had to wait because a man went in before me for an emergency. Then I spent over an hour with the doctor drilling and cleaning in my mouth, waiting for a minor bleeding to stop before moving on to the next procedure. All this without a drop of anesthetic. Because I didn’t need any. The nerves had been previously removed.

The big suspense was if she will finish in time for me to catch the last bus home. I so hate it that I have to depend on busses.

Waiting for something to happen...

I am sitting here, waiting for something to happen...
a fit angry one of my Christmas lights has a few broken bulbs and refuses to work. It is one of those long, 100 led, string.  The stupid music box works though and it only makes me angrier. I do not know where I put my spare bulbs. Cannot find them anywhere. I suppose I will have to buy a new whole set and hope it has spares that I can use for the old one.
I am not excited about Christmas at all but that does not mean I will not decorate. I do this once a year and I refuse to let anything stop me. Especially the fact that there is no snow, the temperatures are above 0 and the sun shines like it's April. nothing wrong with that, I love April. In April, not in December.
I am more excited about going to the dentist tomorrow. I mean, it is a necessity and I do not see why people are so afraid to go.
I am a lot more excited for my Amaryllis papillio. It has two flower stems. Never had one like that before. I suppose it will bloom in January. Anytime is good. It will be a thing of beauty.
I am more excited about going to sleep in the next five minutes (not gonna happen, though) than about Christmas.
The good news is that I managed to write 8 pages of my third novel the other day. It is a lot considering I allowed reality to  rule my mind and neglected the best part of myself: my mind. Especially the part that holds an entire imaginary world. How did that happen? Why was I so careless with my own sanity?
It is one of the reasons I do not enjoy things the way other people do. because I am not whole most of the times and things just don't stick to me. Like water and oil. Never gonna see them blend into each other.
Why do we allow the bad things in our lives take over? It makes no sense.
I am very much aware of this and that is why, just before I started writing this, I went outside and gave some of my Muscovy ducks a big, big hug. Then looked at the sun with no thought in my head, then took a few pictures of the amaryllis stems for posterity. All I had in my brain was what I was looking at.  And it felt good. Then, as if by divine touch, I had an idea about my book and stored it in that special part of my brain.
The sun is still up. A chainsaw is being abused somewhere in the neighborhood. People cutting trees for fire. It is a good day for work.
I imagine that in more than one place in the village people are butchering pigs. For some reason, pigs are sacrificed for Christmas every year. the traditional date for doing that is on the 20th but they do it whenever they want. That is why I say December is a month of mourning for pigs. Just like Thanksgiving is for turkeys and Easter for lambs. Don't understand the connection between these animals and the holidays but I am in no position to judge. The important fact is that televisions have material for the traditional Christmas news. Or Easter. Or Thanksgiving. Or any other such holiday when everything happens according to a script that has been use over and over, and everyone is so amazed by everything even if they have seen the same thing every year.  I suppose it is just a human need, to do this things. They would suffer if anything in the script would change.
The children must be getting ready to go caroling. And by getting ready I mean they make plans about how to spend the money they may earn on meaningless things.
This is the world I live in. Do not get me wrong. I am sure there are some kids out there that co carolling because they like it, or because they believe it is the right thing to do, or because their parents told them so.  But the majority do it for the gain. If only they bothered to learn to carols properly.
Enough with negativity. We gain nothing from it.
More of these sunny, spring-like days and I will start thinking about how to plan my flower garden again. I am already waiting for  a firm to renew its bulb collection. I saw a few rare lilies I want to have. I know I have too many already for such a small space but I want more. They are too beautiful .
You see how easy I start thinking about garden planning? But no. I will not give in to it. Not yet. I must resist the urge because winter must pass first. There may not be any snow now but there will be, sooner or later. It always comes. I hope sooner rather than later because if the temperatures drop below 0 and there is no coating of snow my roses might freeze. (Oh my, I did it again. I can't finish a thought about weather without linking it to something about my plants.)
Enough with the break. Back to my book...