Found a good pair of walking shoes on sale yesterday. With the toe well supported, I can resume some of the longer morning rambles with the dog. Kept this one on the short side: down the hill, across the old stone bridge, a short block on rue St-Jean, swing left down to the remains of the old mill, and a bit of a stroll along the river. Cybèle had a sniffing extravaganza and managed to send a few ducks into a scatter.
The river is running high and swift from all the rain. My dreams were filled with water rats swimming around like tourists lazing in a pool. But also, a brief and delightful moment when the dreamer caught a shadow person placing a parcel on the table and disappearing.
Said parcel was a book. Thick grainy cardboard wrapped around the cover, the spine and the back cover. Hence, no trace of the title or of the author’s name. The same cardboard coated the individual pages so that the book looked like a cardboard mock-up. Yet, the dreamer knew this was a real book, wrapped in such a way as to be a surprise.
Yes, I woke and savored the dream image for a while, before setting off to sleep again.
I’m now quite broke following the holiday. Whether I can buy herbs for potting at the market tomorrow depends on any overdraft privileges I may or may not have. Soon to find out.
A local friend’s misadventures with a relationship gone sour formed part of my thoughts while strolling by the river. The ex – charming and smiling in casual encounters – has the nasty habit of blaming others when things go wrong. Ergo, she’s now responsible for everything that’s gone awry in his life and – among other niceties – he threatens to ram into her car the next time he sees her.
The strolling-by-riverside thoughts included concern for my friend, of course. But also unanswerable questions about irrational responses to frustration and disappointment.
The fiction: moments with, moments away. In daily living, other people’s lives and concerns seeping forward like the rising tide. Admin, admin, and more admin. (But a salaried social worker delegating responsibilities back to me for solving a lodging problem? Doesn’t sit well – how to resolve though, if shooting the ball back to her side of the court only means she’ll ignore the problem?)
The book dream.The drifting water rats. A sprig of wildflowers gathered by the river. Potting soil. With luck tomorrow morning at market , some chives, basil, tarragon and such for the kitchen window sill.
Can’t afford the vet. Off the the vet anyway. The dog vomited yesterday. Again today. Plus a strange lump on her skull.