Friday, December 15, 2017

My Wet Foot

I was in deep sleep when Sheba woke me this morning. I got dressed and took her out at 4:10 am and she did nothing. I knew what that meant: Somewhere in my house there was a puddle so we came back inside. Before I started looking for it, I went into my bathroom and when I stepped on the mat my foot sank into soaking wet wool … end of search.
Once fed and watered the animals started their morning play and I sat down to write this post and everyone was happy at Pinecone Park. Ella was singing some of my favourite songs and the fire was roaring. Then I heard Fred crying.
He was sitting at the foot of a bamboo screen I have in the kitchen and over which I’d hung a piece of rope with which we’d played last night. As I got close, he took off up the screen and pulled at the rope but it was caught. I freed it and Freddie took off with the rope in his mouth and as soon as Sheba saw moving rope, she was off too. Then Ethel joined in and then so did I because they sounded like a stampede and Paula was still sleeping. I wanted to get and hide the rope but it was hopeless. Freddie is fast.
Thursday did not go as planned.
Paula was due at 10:20 am but fog delayed her departure until noon and when her plane got to Gabriola it just kept going. I watched it continue past Silva Bay. It landed in Nanaimo because of fog here and Paula had to catch a ferry from Nanaimo so she didn’t get here until 1:30.
We went into the village to get some food and spent the afternoon just lounging around, making dinner and watching movies.
Darrell did finicky work. He put all the covers on the electrical so there wasn’t much in the way of change to see. And I ordered the tiles for the floor that won’t be here for five-to-nine days. Darrell will finish the Cedar detail on the walls, he’ll build the hearth and lay the electrics for the floor heating and then we’ll have to wait for the tiles so we might have a bit of hiatus unless he builds the table, counters and shelves while we wait.
This morning we’re going to Jay’s to check out my Arbutus tree. He cut down a blighted tree that I’m going to install it in my kitchen for the kitties so that they can use it to climb up into the loft. If they’re going to be indoor cats I want their environment to be stimulating and the loft is going to be quite empty once I move into the studio so I’m going to build a sturdy multi-leveled maze for them out of cardboard up there. The maze, my ladies, the fence: I’m in creator’s heaven here.
The warm weather and sunshine is ending, sad to say. It’s supposed to rain now for five days and then get cold for the Solstice when Jay and Robin are coming for dinner. I’d love for it to snow. I’d love to see this place all white — and to have a hot tub in the white stuff.
I moved to France in 1974 almost immediately after the death of Connie Tyrell and I started a job that I desperately needed but I lied to get it. I said I was bilingual and I could barely speak a word of French. But I wanted to; it was the reason I’d moved there and I remember the absolute joy of my first dream in which I spoke French. It was about six months later.
I just tried to speak out loud. All that happens is the harder I try, the more spastic I get. My face becomes distorted, all the muscles tensing, my arms rise and fall and jerk back and forth with my fingers rigid and stabbing the air. But not a sound comes out.
It’s been almost two years of this but I never dream about me stuttering. I am a normally functioning person in my dreams — always and still; maybe because I don’t want to stutter whereas I wanted to speak French. But always dreaming of being a speaker makes it depressing to rediscover my malady every morning. Sigh.
Paula should be up soon and she’ll drive our day’s agenda. The weather forecast ain’t great but we’ll cope. Cold weather is coming and maybe snow. I’d love to see a good snowfall here at a time when I’ve pie in the fridge and still haven’t seen season two of The Crown.

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