I May Have Said That Before

The four-footed one likes to watch out the large window sometimes.  She will spend hours just watching.  Sometimes I don’t even know what she’s looking at out there.  I guess it’s the same as when Beloved or I plop down in front of the television and just watch it.

Soemtimes, once we sit down and start watching something it leads to another something and after a while I wonder what we are watching or even why.  But it’s easy to just sit there and stay doing what we are doing.

Sometimes you need to just sit and watch, or mindlessly let your time go for a bit.  The key is not to stay in those moments for too long.  And yet, yet, somehow I can suddenly lost an hour or two or five.  Hey it happen!

Maybe I should take up looking out the window instead, even though the four-footed companion seems to spend longer than that at the window.  I somehow don’t think I’d be spending the same amount of time at the window.  Because there isn’t enough to keep me that occupied, but then again I may have said that about television shows Beloved started watching as well.

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Through The Window

A lovely day to sit in front of the window, watch the birds and read, Beloved declared. And so that’s what we did.  Reading, writing, marking and commenting while the four-footed one frolicked happily on the floor. That is until Beloved went to see what he was going to cook and opted to make a fast run to the store for much-needed ingredients etc.  He took the four-footed one with him leaving me to carry on where I wast.

A few birds decided to perch on the windowsill near me which is when I noticed it.  Not at first, at first I simply enjoyed the antics of the birds. But I noticed that there was something a bit off about one of the birds, something not right with its feathers, I had assumed.  Until I looked more closely and realized that seemed like a set of messed up feather was in fact a smear on my window.

After more inspection I realized that the smear was on the inside of the window and it wasn’t alone.  The whole window from the bottom to a certain height was covered with smears, whorls and odd marks.  And just above that height was what appeared to be the dried remnants of a spray. Upon closer inspection the odd marks appeared to be very closely matched to someone’s nose.  A specific someone in the house who is vertically challenged and happens to have paws.

Now for the record, I have never seen the four-footed one at this window.  Sure it stands to reason that when the blinds are up she’d be intrigued by the sights out of that window.  I just haven’t seen her there.  When he returned, Beloved assured me that she likes that window.  She likes to bark at the various sights and since the window is rather long as well as tall she has an incredible line of sight.  So when she barks, she is right near the window.  She also likes to press her nose on the window he said.  And the whorls?  Her tongue he said with the tone of a man in the know who was also a man getting ready to wash the inside of the windows.

What’s On Your Windowsill or Decorating With Dinos

My grandmother used to keep plants and candles on her windowsills. My mother kept seedlings on hers until they were ready to be planted in the ground.  A few of the much orders ladies I knew growing up kept powder on their windowsills, to keep the haints away.  These ladies always had yellow trim on their windows to ward off the haints as well.

But me, I apparently seek the not to grow life nor to ward off those who have passed over.  You see friends I keep dinosaurs on my windowsills.  I didn’t start out with a plan to keep dinosaurs on my windowsills.  Actually I didn’t plan on keeping anything on my windowsills.  However the four-footed one opted to out her plush dinosaurs on the windowsills she could reach.  Thankfully she only has two, but that’s enough for me.

I’ve  nothing against dinosaurs, plush or whatever.  I just have no need for them on my windowsills, but every day around eight in the morning they are placed on the windowsills to be removed only when it’s time to run around the house with them in your mouth.  Well if you are the four-footed one that is.  I have no more need for carrying dinosaurs in my mouth than I do to have them on my windowsills!

 

It’s Naturally Humorous But I Don’t Get It

Can someone please explain to me how, or why to be more exact, that the weather knows when I’ve just cleaned my windows?  Without fail, the minute I’ve managed to get my windows clean and free of steaks s huge wind will come up to out dirt back on my windows.  And of course that isn’t really enough so it rains, just enough to make a mess all over my windows again.

Beloved watches, and I mean watches, the weather to ensure it will be dry, sunshine filled before he tackles with windows.  And the minute he does, it’s as if the forecast changes.  Pretty sure nature does this as some form of a joke.  Only I’m not laughing. Yeah I know, that’s my issue.

Of course the same thing happens when I rake leaves.  No sooner than do I get them all raked up and in the bag for a moment to admire the green grass which had been lost under the leaves and the wind comes along and gives me more.  More that aren’t even from my trees.  Because my trees don’t have leaves that shed.

Now I know into every life a little rain, dirty windows and leaves must come.  But why, oh why I ask you, does this always have to be a fight with me and nature.  With me always on the shorter end of the stick.  Anyone?  Anyone at all know?

The Garden That Wasn’t

I bravely went to the store and bought some herbs to plant in the garden.  Rosemary, basil, oregano, thyme, parsley, and dill all came home with me.  Well technically they were paid for first and then I brought them home with high hopes of putting them in my garden.

But I didn’t want to plant in a torrential downpour.  Although I guess I could let the pounding rain dig the holes for me.  But then all the soil would wash away.  I’d have clean herbs of course.  Beaten by the rain, planted in mud pits and now waterlogged.  But clean nonetheless.

So I put the little pots in my window and promptly forgot I was going to put them n the garden.  And surprise surprise, they seem to be doing well in my window.  Better in my window then when I have planted herbs in the dirt. In the earth, which is where I thought they wanted to be.  Obviously the soil is wrong here.

They like the soil in their little pots.  And apparently they aren’t fans of the weather outside.  They seem to like indoor weather much better than the normal outdoor stuff.  So I think I will keep them inside.  It’s not just that they enjoy it, but it makes it much handier when I’m cooking because they are right there.  It might be a bit too easy, given that I am now tossing herbs here there and everywhere.  But my taste-buds are tingling with new tastes!

An Indoor Storm

A small hurricane, or perhaps tornado, had been through our house.  It didn’t break a single window, never harmed any of the roof and left the walls still standing.  Nope this storm, this frantic amount of energy in a confined space only left a mess on the floor, then owner portions of the wall and terrorized the dog.

As quickly as the storm had whipped up it died down, to a small sleeping and innocent looking form of a small child.  A child who had just moments earlier run through my house as though her hair was wildly on fire and she had to run off all the energy or suffer dire consequences.

Oh sure we, Beloved and I, had invited and welcomed the  storm child into the house.  Least you get the wrong idea, we do not randomly go about picking up or inviting children into our home.  Nope we need to know the parents.  And we must be feeling in a generous ,old, the one that makes us mildly insane as we find ourselves agreeing to look after a small child.

beloved will happily sit on the floor and play cars or tea party or even dollies with a child.  He will read and color on the floor if that’s what the child likes to do.  But he refuses to play dress up.   Not that this creates an issue.

Before the storm had run crazy through our house, she had been happily sitting on the floor colouring with us.  We had read some stories, clocked at some pictures and then moved onto colouring.  It was during this activity that she saw the dog.  She happily announced “puppy” and reached for the dog with her arms stretched out.

Some dogs will be okay with this. Not ours.  Ours isn’t used to children.  Ours refuses to sit still or wait for the child, so the dog started to run for refuge with a small child in tow.  Behind the dog and the child was a Beloved, trying to pick up items knocked over, wipe smears off the wall and reassure the child if she settled down the puppy would come to her.  I suspect he was praying for some type of intervention, some miracle that would make things stop and go back to peace and calm.

Instead the dog decided that finding one safe spot wasn’t enough.  He decided to run around all throughout the house, seeking small places to hide.  The little girl decided to not just chase the dog, but call him, at a high-pitched tone while grabbing items and dropping them when something else caught her eye .

I wanted to help, I should have helped, but I was too busy.  Laughing at the comedy taking place in my house.  I did clean up the mess after, the toys went back into a neat pile.  Little hand prints were wiped off the walls and knocked over items were righted.  Tea was made for Beloved.  And we marvelled at how much energy this small storm could expend with such joy.

We have decided, however, that we don’t need a storm in the house again for a while.  We still have to get the dog the out hiding for good and well we like the walls as they are.  But if we must have a storm we want this kind of storm, not the real lose your house kind.

 

Time Marches Past Empty Places

Our footsteps fell hollow into the silence that filled the old house. It was like the others, abandoned many years before, structure still good and seeming to wait for someone to move in.

Across the wide road, from the window space in the upper room I could look into another empty husk. Ghost town indeed I thought as I walked through the house. Who had lived here, or here or across and over there? What were the lives like of those who bravely set up house and town in the middle of nowhere? What possessed them to think they could manage it, so far from important things, and no I am not talking about Starbucks either.

I could hear his feet, echoing on the old boards as he moved around. Now and the he’d clear his throat or cough. Other than that a heavy, yet easy silence hung in the air, almost like a protective blanket.

I imagined us, back then, deciding to give this place a try. His loud voice, boisterous ways would probably stand out more so, although I didn’t suspect it was as still as it is now. But what would they make of me? An educated woman, and educator in my own rights. Outspoken and independent, surely I’d be at odds with them. Much the way these houses are at odds with the landscape around them.

And yet that was the thing, those who built here houses, tried to set up a last town did so without care or worry about the surroundings. It was as if they simply stopped and decided that this would be a good place to set up home. And others set up homes and soon there were handfuls of them and viola a town. But it didn’t last long. Moving after those who set it up were gone, long after the last person left the place, the houses stood. Windows had fallen out or been broken. A few places were doors, but other than that, the bones of these places were still standing, bones with bony cover. A reminder that as time goes on, never stopping, we still leave a mark on a place, filling a space. But time continues to march on and in doing so everything slowly decays away. One day, down the road, these houses, his place will be gone. Lost to memories at best, slowly being covered up and disappearing to give way to something else.