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Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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9:30 a.m. - 2011-05-22
I was watching a bunny nibble the grass a few feet away from the open window. Then the clack of the keys as I typed made the bunny cock its head and look around, trying to spot the dangerous beast that sounds like a computer keyboard being used by a speedy three fingered typist. The bunny, unsure if typists are a menace or not, slowly lollopped up the yard and found a less noisy place to nibble over by the outhouse. The birds hopping around right outside the door- pecking, skirmishing, happily boasting about who's the baddest of the bad ass finches- aren't bothered by me or my typing at all. Too busy in their birdie world to be worried about that weird feather-less giant on the other side of the window screen. I live in paradise. Well, my paradise. Which is really all that matters. No. That sounds selfish. What I mean is I am content here without it being necessary that anyone else agree on how worthy my paradise is. Though, gratifyingly, several of my friends have told me how much they like this place. Seeing and understanding why it appeals to me so much. The old, old trees. The quiet. Heh. I mentioned my dopey three-fingered typing up there. It's true. Best I can figure I've written nearly five million words with this keyboard. And I still only use three fingers and I still have to look at the keys. I can go pretty fast though and am decently accurate. Mostly the spell check kicks in because I tend to make up my own words and make free-form constructions of existing ones that are grammatically improper. (See: 'baddest' in the 1st paragraph.) [Though sometimes I make an actual spelling error, which obviously means I need to be dragged outside and beaten until I'm a bloody smear on the sidewalk for being such a flawed and disgusting creature, right, Ms HeMMMMMMMingway?] Anyhow, I'm taking off later for another enchanted spot. Miss Steph's house. Outside of the pleasure of my friend's company itself (seriously, she could live in a refrigerator box beneath a highway overpass and I'd be happy to hang out with her there), Miss Steph's place is another oasis. A lovely peaceful pocket neighborhood set plop in the middle of a rather gritty city downtown, my friend's pretty house with its books and art and clean-lined contemporary (but uber-comfy!) furniture and working fireplace is just wonderful. Yet when the weather permits we turn our backs on the pretty inside and spend our time visiting on her front porch. Which is in a word- spectacular. Everything a good front porch should be. Shady, full of comfortable rocking chairs, decorated with flowers and plants and cool stuff to watch sway in the breeze. It feels private yet we can keep an eye on the doings on the block. I suppose it's almost a good thing Miss Steph lives just far enough away to make dropping by on a whim nearly impossible and definitely inconvenient. Otherwise soon as porch sitting season started I'd be there all the damn time and poor Steph would never have any privacy. My family would starve and Steph would never get her ironing done because there we'd be sittin' on the porch, rocking and smoking and talking our fool heads off. So today will be a treat. We'll be doing the porch thing after a yummy lunch at a local bistro. Another pleasure about visiting with my friend, I can eat girl food in ferny places. Mick's appetite is simply too prodigious to be sated with the usual bistro fare. He'd like the food well enough, and he adores Steph and is always happy to be our shared escort no matter how ferny the place might be, but I know how hungry he'd still be afterward. It feels mean to ask him to make a whole lunch out of what to him would be a decent sized appetizer. Today I'm traveling solo and my pal and I can feast on arty sandwiches and foo-foo salad and I won't have to fret whether the place offers a panini the size of a hubcap for my starving Mick. In fact I won't have to sweat anything today. Not only will I get a badly needed day out on my own and a good old fashioned gab fest and lunch with my best friend, I will come home to a house that'll be cleaner than when I left it and a husband who'll be delighted to see me. He'll kiss me all over my face and ask about my day and really mean it when he says he's glad I had a good time. I always thought 'happy' was something reserved for people who were way better than me. Stronger, wiser, harder working, worthier somehow. Misery was my lot in life because of how unwanted I was. How I shouldn't even be here at all. Bad enough I was wasting space and resources, who the hell was I to ask for happy too? Turns out I can have as much happy as I want. No bad things because I dared. No retribution for my uppity happiness when I was so patently unworthy of it. I can be happy if I want to. And happy I am. Pretty cool, huh?
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