Should I go swimming, I wondered. Sunday early afternoon. Where was that program? Couldn’t find it. Such a quiet day. No one around. Nowhere to go to. I looked at my bike. I looked at the dog. Dog looked bored. Ahhhh. He can’t come swimming. Maybe take him to Monarch Woods. Good idea. Maybe on the way, exchange those beer bottles for money. Then they won’t take up space anymore. I didn’t seem too warm for a dog. See how it goes. So out we went. Up to the beer store. Passed the garden center. Maybe stop off there later, see what sales are on. It started to rain a bit. Mmmmmm, did I close my windows? Was sure I didn’t. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
On a railing, close to the store entrance, I tied the dog. Dry spot. Went into that ice palace. Brrr. beer stores are cold. Had to wait a bit. Heard thunder roll in. Got my exchange money, turned and saw one thick sheet of rain. Ran outside, freed soaked dog ( name is Simon) who looked a bit panicky.
“May as well come in,” said a man in the front hall of the beer store, waiting out the storm with a case of beer. I did. As always Simon became the subject of conversation. Instantly adored by most who see him. The man, a typical beer drinker, told me about someone who breeds golden retrievers and how great they are. No argument there.
I looked at the sky. Pure blue in the direction of my place. The other way, coming from Waterloo, black, threatening clouds without end. “We may as well go, Simey”, I said, and we stepped into the downpour. We ran across the parking lot to the entrance of the “New Canadian Super Store.” Wasn’t going to hide there, was thinking about open windows at home. No ambition to go into the Garden Center either, anymore.
Folks hiding from the rain under the overhang of the super store looked adoringly and with pity at Simon, water streaming off him. “Ahh,” said a man, “You are the only one I feel sorry for.” No matter that I was dripping too. Simon and I jogged on. I ran into the house first to close windows. Luckily the rain had come straight and the damage was minor. My bed wasn’t wet at least, nor the books under the bathroom window. I grabbed two big towels from a shelf and threw them over Simon, rubbing him as close to dry as I could get him.
“Well Simon,” I said, throwing the wet towels in the washer and getting out the hair dryer, “I think we both went for a swim.”
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20 comments:
now who wrote that? I get quite irritated with people who don't reveal their identity.
Sjees it was just me, wild thing. I forgot and thought everyone would quess anyhow. Don't you know Simon?
Simon who? Why do you assume that I know? You don't know me.
How could I know? You didn't reveal your identity.
smart alec!
I remember wet Augusts. Way back when people had maybe just one week or at the most two weeks vacation, and they got drowned out. You couldn't predict it either. Sometimes it was August, sometimes July. But that was in Holland, then. They used to call Holland frog land. Lots of water, also from the sky. Now there doesn't seem to be much difference in the weather overseas and here. Altogether we drown in a world full of tears. OK sorry, I am getting over dramatic here. When you write creatively you tend to get carried away with good sounding phrases, away from literal truth.
Yesterday I went for a swim in Harry Class. Barely half an hour in the water, thunder came rolling in. Pool personal exchanged looks, peered into the clouds building up in the sky and sure enough the 'clear-the-pool' whistle sounded. Oh well, that half an hour had been refreshing anyhow. The thunderstorm never came about.
I thought I would enjoy camping. I decided to dig up my pup tent. It was dark allready. I forgot how to set it up. Alzheimer? But after a false start, I remembered. No Alzheimer anyhow. Good. I made my bed in the tent. Simon's bed in front. Took a book and read untill my eyes started to droop. Another cuddle for Simom, who stretched luxurly, and off to sleepland. Noticed how much noisier the world around here has become. Man, no end of loud cars racing by, all night. I slept anyhow. Woke up early morning to pitter patter. RAIN. I tried to ignore it but it got worse. "I guess we better go in Sime" I said. Simon agreed. I picked up our bedding, closed the tent and in we went, to continue our sleep the conservative way. I guess August is not the month to camp. August 'o6 is wet August. When the tent is dried up, I'll fold it and put it away.
I am starting to be really aware of that there won't be a retreat September/October. After so many years having that break it sorta gets into your blood expectations. Creatures of habit we are. The constant lesson: Accept change.
Luxurly?
Hey, our new friend "anonymous" is quite snarky! Luxurly is an absolutely wonderful word - I feel quite luxurly now.
I've just gotten back from vacation along the St. Lawrence River near Gananoque. My, the waves are quite different on the big river than on our sweet little Grand... We actually battled the waves and wind! The yellow boat, Wild Thing, loved the waves - sliced through the water with vindication. Ah, now here was water worthy of it!
The smaller boat got spun and batted about the water at times...
Farleydog loved the holiday. He hardly noticed the five hour drive, both ways, feeling quite high and "luxurly" on the effects of the little pill the vet gave him to relax...
Yes, critical bugger eh, that anonymous. The 'look over your shoulder' kind. Follows me around. As if attached. I'm trying to trap it into the black hole. It's slippery like an oil slick, contaminating my liquid mind
Hey, I heard that. Contaminating! Just showing you the right way. Can't you take it? It should be rather cleansing
I like to cleanse myself of you. At least Xena appreciates things with character. Too much of you would make life boring to all extremes.
Humph!
Hey Xena, that sounds like you had a wonderful trip!. How wet did you get? LOL. I can see the yellow kayak battling the waves, wow how wonderful!!!
And Farley actually in his element with the help of just a little pill. Dog smiles!!!
Life is Good, right?
Humph!
Yes, life is good, WT. Although I still haven't got you out in the boat this summer...
And "Anon", what kind of word is humph????
Mmm, do I know you? Humph sounds like something Larry might say... although Larry would appreciate a word such as luxurly, using many such words himself.
Anyway, Humph, I mean, Anon - welcome to our little blog.
Now I do believe "Anon" is Shakesperian? Whereas "Humph" Is an expression from the cranky camel with the hump in "Just So Stories" by Kipling.
Humph is actually officially in the Oxford dictionary, as being an inarticulate sound expressing doubt or dissatisfaction.
I doubt anonymous is in the mood to explain this, still being in a pesky, humphy mood. So...
I knew that! I implore you do not speak for me!!! And I am not a camel. I am a sensative human being. You know this beautiful Kipling verse from "Rewards and Fairies?"
I have given my heart to a flower,
Though I know it is fading away.
Though I know it will live but an hour
And have me morn its decay!
Ye desolate whirlwinds that rave,
I charge you be good to my dear!
She is all - she is all that I have,
And the time of our parting is near!
Thank you Xena for graciously welcoming me to this little blog. I appreciate it. May the river be with you.
What a perfect choice of poem, Anon. It reminds me of "The Little Prince." That, I believe, is one of Wild Thing's favourite stories... although I should not speak for WT. She speaks for herself quite well.
Speaking of books - last week I couldn't find the book I had brought to read on my "river holiday", a book of poetry by Lorna Crozier. Perhaps the river had decided I wasn't supposed to read that book at its shores. I felt empty, with nothing to read on those luxurly down moments, so Bobby Bacon and I went to a used bookstore. After much scouring through the usual "airport-kind-of thriller/romance/mystery" blockbuster thing, we found two books that felt worthy of "cottage". Neither was about a flower, although one was about a leg. Yes, a leg. It was called "No Leg to Stand On", by Oliver Sacks. Oliver is quirky in all of his reads, and I don't know how I missed this one first time around. This is a book about his leg - the left one to be exact - how he literally lost touch with it - and that "losing" sent him deep into the abyss - an existential angst and a questioning of all things ...
The second book was a lovely story of a trio of "freaks" and how they banded together to create meaning in their lives, and find satisfaction and love. Perhaps you have read it? Marjorie Kellogg's "Do You Love Me Junie Moon?" Lisa Minelli played Junie Moon in the film version, BB tells me.
To go full circle and end this comment with a flower, when I returned home the flowers in my garden were amass with blooms. So much had changed in such a short time span. The small rose that I planted at my mother's death - a gift from a writer friend - had bloomed for the second time this season - once on the anniversary of my mother's death, and now once upon my homecoming. Do flowers bloom deliberately?
When Christina came over the first time, she bought me a flowering Christmas cactus. When she left, the plant stopped flowering. When she came back about 1 year later, the cactus came in full bloom.
I am convinced as often that flowers bloom deliberately, or about other such "coincidences" as I doubt them. It depends where I am more, in my sub- or my concious.
Nigel bought two large, flowering plants he found on sale. They are in the backyard. One thrived. One looked poorly and died, we thought. It looked very dead. He could've brought it back and get another. Was it worth the gas in the car? Was there time? Procrastination pays off sometimes. Suddenly all kinds of green things appeared among the dead leaves. It is very green and alive again. Like a miracle.
Went to Lakeside with Simon to meet Mary Kuhn. We sat by the lake and talked for a good two hours. The white heron was very present. What a beauty! Oh how I wish to have a zoom-in lens! I should stop talking about it and go after getting one.
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