Arry and I have a lot in common aside from long noses. We are both ‘doing’ sorts, that is to say we don’t cope well without having an energy outlet and tend to go through life at breakneck speed. I put Arry’s exuberance in all things active down to his natural zest for life (and pools), I think my frenetic approach has more to do with a search for some type of inner peace. I am happiest when I have a hundred and one things to do but why do I have the urge to complete everything immediately? And if I do find that magical place of serenity and bliss, will I actually calm down?
My favourite time to think is when I’m out running with Arry and Alice, now joined by Sherman and Salome, since they too need to burn off energy and I can keep up with their training more easily. There, on the trails, is the one place where I get close to that inner peace I long for – that is except when I’m not discussing what defines idiocy with Arry. I let my mind wander through random thoughts as to what would heal the wounds that the last few years have carved into me. That and practising putting French phrases together which for some reason is always best when wheezing up a hill. I suppose, like Forrest Gump did, one day I’ll just stop running.
If there was a week for many tasks to be completed, it certainly wasn’t the one just gone. The temperature dropped and so did the rain, the grey skies matched my mood and a funk ensued. With no work poolside and the soggy clay underfoot making any jobs in the garden near impossible, the only thing I could do was paint the alcove under the apartment and it’s not exactly my favourite job in the world. It’s also freezing cold down there so the walls take a long time to dry and the paint stinks. The wet weather meant having dogs underfoot whilst being precariously balanced on a ladder and trying to stop Sherman from re-creating The Coat of many Colours. To add to all the mayhem, Max the chauffagiste had finally decided that this was the week to change boilers so a multitude of pipes and wires decorated the floor like a weird game of Twister. Probably not the best time to update the downstairs decor. And no, we still don’t have any working radiators but darling Denis came round with a load of electric heaters, which was just as well since Mumo wasn’t feeling all that well (she’s better now thank you). I dread to think what my electric bill is going to look like but the woofers are loving the tropical ambience chez moi.
It’s off to the vets tomorrow with Salome and Simi. Salome is having her ovaries out and Simi, a couple of little lumps on her leg removed and sent off to the lab. I might have to take Coco in too as he’s a bit poorly this morning. Why do dogs always get sick on a Sunday? And not wanting to be left out of the party, Arry decided to add a bit of cross-country skiing to his daily zoomies so is now limping. So much for peace and inner calm.
It’s not all doom and gloom though. The quarterly village newsletter arrived with the announcement that there is to be another Christmas Decoration competition! If there is anything that’ll bring me out of a self-pitying funk, it’s festive fairy lights and fake holly. Denis and I have already begun planning the display – my only worry is that if Max hasn’t fixed the boiler, will our electric grid take the strain?
“Momma always said you need to put the past behind you before you can move on” (Forrest Gump)
Widow plus woofs 