1st September, 2018 Saturday
Well, its damn chilly this morning. Its bright. Sun is clear. And the angle of the sunlight speaks of the waning of the year. This far from the equator the speed of wax and wane of light is so very very swift. Summer Solstice has sundown at 10:30 at night and dawn at 4:30 in the morning. This year, we were made keenly aware of the hour of dawn by the umbrage a neighbor took at our crop of young roosters’ instinct to call the day. We apologised and brought gifts and cards to no avail. Lack of sleep produced a hail of strange.
But light dims swiftly as the days roll on. Two months towards Winter Solstice now, sundown is tow hours earlier. So an hour a month, eh. That the rate of change in light.
And time of dawn. Not sure. No alarms from neighbors to alert us our little roosters are so much more polite before they are old enough to crow.
So Zoi had to pee and poo in the middle of the night. She gets a pass because she’s still a babe at 6 months. So I don my glasses and my robe and wander down dark stairs trailing Deerhound, Saluki and The Zoi. Door opens to the night and zoom, she squats then arches for her poo that didn’t come before we hiked it up to bed. I stand by the door hoping she does not decide that glee awaits in the night clad yard, please not. I open door and zip by me the Deerhound and Saluki boys and then blessedly, my beloved Zoi. We trail the hike that is the staircase up to bed and shuffle furry bodies so the puzzle that is bed has room for me and back to dreams I go.
I dreamt we brought The Zoi and her sister and many other dogs to a party at a stranger’s house. As we left to walk the path to the car, the dog bodies school with us seemed to have all of ours but then I realized one was not, and where was Zoi and Sis? I go back to the now darkened empty home and enter, quiet so as not to wake the Lord and Lady of the house. I walk through rooms and there on a comfy couch are Zoi and Sis. They have made themselves at home. Ha. Time to go, kids. They do not move. So I, leashless, forage for a line to bind them to the leaving we must go. In the cushion seam of the sofa they occupy, I find two possibilities. One is better but too tangled. The other is not ideal but I can make it work. Then the cell phone on the side table rings. Thats not my phone but…then I don’t know…the dream is dim…I think I answer and its my husband saying, “Where are you?” I tell him I am in the house and found the pups and then somehow I am out with pups heading to the car and then
I am awake again.
It was late when I got out of bed.
We are off to Saturday Market. Today is the first of 30 that has been named for the test to see how locally we all can feed. The scope is a radius of 200 miles from where you live. We here might have an easier time than most of you in urban scapes. You might try, though. Four weeks, you get ten cheats a week. And they can change each week. Here, I can get beef, chicken, duck, lamb and salmon all right here. Goat milk, cow’s milk, yes even local cheese. Veg galore, but not my avocadoes, lemons, or bananas. Beer and Wine, no problem. Lots of that here. Pears and apples, yes. My tea itself is one cheat, either black or green, they are not local. And even if something is made locally, are its ingredients local? Each ingredient that isn’t local is a cheat. Remember, you get 10. My husband, for example loves his salad but he has 10 bottles at least of dressings made elsewhere. All his salad stuff, yes, is local, but not that bottled army taking up my fridge shelves. But this may be one of those pick your battles times.
So we are off to Market, this time with the Zoi. She needs it. And its cool enough. Then over that bridge for lunch and a visit to the ring. Then East a bit to visit a festival of sorts in a spot that sings to both of us of California. Lots of oaks and grass. A lovely spot.
To my left I have a page of paint swatches. This treehouse has many colors. Some of them feel fine and some of them I feel in my teeth. Its time to think about the change that terra cotta concrete floor calls for.
I guess I am nesting once again. So as Cancer and therefore, Crab, given that I have changed my homes more than most I guess I am crab that sheds one shell for another as I grow. So I am shelling. Nesting in this new shell. Making it my own. For the time I’m here.
This place, this town, was not here back 100 years. What will be here 100 years ahead? Not this, I think. The wind will be here and the hills.
Time for Day.
Ta.
Tea With Me 