“We lean toward freedom. So say the white sails.”
—Tomas Tranströmer
Simba came in with something in his jaws and I stood over Doug, who was deeply asleep on the sofa, and started stone cold hollering. “Wake UP!!!! Simba’s got something in his jaws I think it’s a bird, please help, please try, please Doug WAKE UP!!”
So why couldn’t I have tried instead?
I did before I moved in here, after The Ordeal, when it was my cats preying on small creatures. But Simba is Doug’s cat, and tends to obey him.
When there are no men around, women deal with these things but when there are men around, we just scream, which always works.
Doug started chasing after Simba, and I ran outside, covering my face with my hands.
He came out a short while later and said groggily, “I took care of it.”
Were those his words?
Doug speaks like sea-glass. Opaque. I am always asking for more clarity, more detail.
”Was it a bird or a mouse?” I said warily.
”A bird. A goldfinch,” he said.
”Did he make it?”
”I think so.”
”Ok.”
Pause.
”What do you mean you think so?”
”I got Simba to drop it and I took it in a napkin and took it outside and threw it upward and it flew.”
”WHAAAAT??? Then it made it!!! Doug, you saved a life!!” I was beside myself, and decided this was a sign that our fortunes, all of us, were turning in our favor, toward freedom.
Doug didn’t understand what a big deal this was for me. But he was happy I was so thrilled.
”Birds are God’s symbol of freedom,” I said.
”Goldfinches are symbols of Sweden?” he said, looking baffled. I laughed. “No, God’s symbol of freedom,” I said.
”Oh!”
I then told him, speaking of Sweden, that in Sweden they put bells on cats’ collars to give the birds fair warning—level the playing field a little. Swedes have thousands of little hacks like this that make life better and make sense. This is what I miss most about Sweden, that sense of some kind of central brain that was sensible.
Doug called one of his mysterious pet store outlets and they said Simba’s collar would be ready in 10 minutes. He drove off to get it. Simba had one before but got out of it in seconds. We’ll see how it goes this time.
We call this place “House of Strays.”
Two new people moved in 2 days ago, and we love them. Mike let us know just how close the roof was to actually caving in. And we now have a plan, to fix it. I get to pick the shingles.
I was talking to Rupert (my brother) a few days ago about simplicity. He mentioned cooking simple meals with very few ingredients, but having the ingredients be the best possible. I said, that should start with your own garden.
For years, I've been struggling to figure out, unsuccessfully, how to get my family and I into a house with a decent amount of land. This is very difficult on a low budget in the UK, pretty much impossible actually, so we have made do with a wee front garden of some 20 sq. meters. Last year, my first ever attempt at growing herbs in the mud out front failed. My efforts were defeated by a high-IQ slug who chomped through the few sprouting things that poked their heads through the soil. I found him asleep in the wide flower pot I was using at night to cover the small seedlings from slug attack. I was unwittingly carrying him to his evening's repast. Sweet deal for the slug, but I didn't enjoy discovering I'm the Homer Simpson of gardening.
Success this year though. I switched operations to a big flower pot that I keep on the roof of my shed. It's the new and improved SAP I use (Slug Avoidance Program) – and it works! I have flourishing basil, sage and chives.
And here's the thing: they taste absolutely amazing. So intense, nothing like what you buy from the store.
It's the small things that matter. Now I have great big plans for the future of my small garden.
Thank you for some nice everyday happenings. This was comforting :).