busy weeks & weekends

Days tend to blur together.  Work.  Unpack.  Put together.  Install.  Did I eat yet today? Take my meds? Try to sleep.   Repeat.

I did get all of the window shades put up.

Changed out shower heads.

Swapped out boring silver knobs for some pretty floral ones.

Put together a bench slash shoe rack and moved my dresser into the closet.

Rearranged the bedroom a little.

Flattened an embarrassing amount of Amazon boxes to be recycled.

 But I've also been taking advantage of coffee on the front porch in the mornings, listening to birds, and lately watching two hummingbirds fight over the feeders.

I've been sharing apples with the groundhogs.  Plural. There is a lighter, smaller one that lives in the culvert by the front of the house, and another larger, darker one near the stream in the back yard.  So far Charlie is oblivious to their existence, and I plan on keeping it that way.

I haven't seen the possum again, but I'm sure it's out there somewhere.

Cicadas are dying, so it has been a little quieter.

I've been told that in the fall the bobcats come down from the mountain and scream like a woman.

I think I'd rather have the cicadas.

Second chances

"Carl?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Have you ever considered what your life might have been like if you'd never met me?"

"No.  Have you?"

"Um, yes.  For just a brief second or two.  Then it sinks in how completely different it would have been, and I have to think about something else for a while."

"Completely different in a good way, or a bad way?"  Instinctually I felt that her honest answer would be to say in a good way, but I was hopeful that she would prove me wrong.

"Mmhmm."

"That wasn't really an answer, dear.  Would your life have been better or worse had we never met?"

"It isn't really a cut and dried answer, Carl.  Some aspects might have been better, and others worse.  It's like the scales of Truth and Justice.  There is always something that gets sacrificed for the greater good."

I could feel my ears burning as my face became red with anger and was grateful that my back was to her at the moment.  If I didn't get that rage under control quickly, in a flash she would see a side of me that none had lived to talk about.

"And you feel that your life was sacrificed for something bad?"

Image Source:
Pinterest

"Not exactly.  It's just that being immortal can be a little sad at times.  All of the people I once knew are moving on in time.  Aging.  Some more beautifully than others, some less gracefully.  I miss them terribly, but because I haven't aged since that night we met, I had to stop visiting them after the first ten years went by.  There are times when I feel very lonely.  Melancholy is a difficult song to dance to alone."

I knew where this was coming from.  This yearning for companionship, and the struggle to choose between taking a life and granting immortality.  I'd felt it too once.

My daughter always said she doesn't get mad, she gets even.  She might not have been my biological daughter before that night, but she was after it.  This was her way of telling me she resented me for not being given the opportunity to choose.

"Then might I suggest something by Bach, or Mozart?"

I heard her dress whisper as she spun on her heels to leave the room, taking care not to slam the door for she knew that would anger me, but close it firmly enough that I knew when she reached her own room upstairs that door would be slammed.

What was done, was done.  There was nothing I could do about it now.  Even if folklore was true that the only way to be released was to destroy the maker, it would take a much stronger vampire than her to do it.

I've joined in with Words for Wednesdays, and this month the words have been provided by Mimi on her blog [here].

you can teach an old dog....

"Mabel, we really don't need a dog at our age, and there isn't anything you can say or do to convince me otherwise."

"Edward, we are NOT that old.  You make is sound like Death is just outside our door.  It isn't!!  But it is sitting outside those poor senior dogs' kennels, and it's just not fair.  I'm not asking to take in a puppy with all of the training and housebreaking needs.  I'm talking about being temporary fosters for senior dogs over the holidays.  To give them a chance to experience what being in a home is really like so that maybe they will have a better chance of being placed in a permanent home."

"Ha!  I'm not stupid, Mabel.  I might not have as much education as some folks, but I know when I'm about to be fed a slice of eat my words pie.  Getting married to you was the biggest wakeup call in how the female mind works.  You say it would be just temporary, but I know you, and I know how you think."

"Edward.  Stop.  Let's just take a look at the dogs that have been at the shelter the longest and listen to what the volunteer has to say about the Home for the Holidays program.  Then you can decide, and I promise I won't put you on the ropes about it and make you give an answer right away.  We can stop by the shelter on the way back from the craft store.  I need to pick up some things for decorating the front stoop."

"Now?"

"Yes, now.  Get your coat on."

... one year later ...

"Edward?  Are you coming?  The photographer has everything ready, and I really want to get this family photo done today so we have time to order holiday cards.  Everyone is sitting still; we are just waiting on you."

"You can stop beating a dead horse with these 'family' photos for every Tom, Dick and Hallmark Holiday, Mabel.  I'm not sure that three old, gray dogs count as children. In dog years, they are likely older than we are!  I just don't understand why someone thought to name their Great Dane "Mouse," or why you thought that letting him sleep on the bed with us was a good idea.  I'm starting to feel like you prefer his company to mine at night."

"Honestly, Edward.  How can you say such a thing about Mousey?  Just because he doesn't snore nearly as loud as you do, it doesn't mean I prefer his company."

Joining in with Words for Wednesday, the prompts can be found here and above in bold italics.

what the world needs now...

"Fusty old woman."

The voice behind me whispered with prepense as to both plead ignorance and intent.  I spun quickly, nearly knocking the young woman over with my pocketbook. 

"Excuse me?  Say again?"

"Oy, so your deaf as well, are you?"

 "Oh no.  I heard you very well, and despite your whisper, I'm certain you meant for me to hear you.  If you've something to say, say it to my face."

The girl suddenly shrunk in size as her friends began to laugh at her, and I could sense that her bravado in front of them was nothing more than a fraud.  Her clothes were unclean, her hair looked as if rats were nesting in it, and she had the appearance of someone who was living on the street.

She looked down at her shoes, once white sneakers were now a filthy looking mouse grey color.  She didn't want to appear weak in front of her friends, but she was unsure of what to say or do next.  I had an urge to be a little more clement with her.

"I suppose you are unaware that the word fusty has more than one meaning.  Can you tell me if you meant to say that I was old-fashioned, or that I stunk?"

She looked up at me, eyes wide and surprised at the opening I was handing her.

"I, uh, I caught wind of your perfume, and it made me think of my dead granny.  So, I guess I meant that you stunk."

Behind her, her friends were giving each other high-fives at what they felt was her come back low blow to me.  I winked at her.

"Hmm, yes, I do suppose it has worn out its welcome.  It is actually a scent my grandfather gave to my grandmother when I was a child.  I wear it sometimes to cope when I miss her, like today, but it might have gone bad after all this time.  What do you do when you miss your grandmother?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, and I could tell it was more than just her grandmother she missed.  Her friends lost interest in the turn of the conversation and went off to tease and harass someone else down the street.

"I tell you what.  I was just about to have breakfast this morning at the restaurant across the street.  What if you join me, my treat, and tell me all about your grandmother and I can tell you all about mine.  Today would have been her 118th birthday, and I think she would like it if you joined me to celebrate her life.  My name is Ella, and I was named after her.  What's your name?"

She looked across the street at the five-star Michelin restaurant I had pointed to, then back at me, eyes wider than before and tears freely falling now.  She nodded slowly.

"My name is Ella too."

Joining in with Words for Wednesday, the prompts can be found [here] and above in bold italics.