Entering the home it was apparent that something was
awry, the rugs were bunched up exposing the underlay, how aghast, the stuffed
animals filling was strewn near and far, tuffs of cat hair lingered, and wet
paw prints loitered as evidence of a grand row gone wild. The K-9 and felines
were sulking without jubilation at our entrance, a sure sign of guilt.
My mother’s British upbringing was instinctual. With
broom in hand, cats at my leg, and a wide eyed dog whimpering for forgiveness.
I dusted off the surfaces watching the lint, hair, and debris lift up into the
late afternoon sunlight streaming across the room exposing all their affairs.
Hal arrived without my belated Valentines gift
potentially placing me in a downward spiral yet his handsome smile, good humor
and his new addiction, Mrs. Brown’s Boys, an Irish comedy saved the night. Laughter
filled the room huddling around our iPad for far too long. How easily brilliant
minds are amused diverting catastrophes of the developed world.
A late night walk exposed wafts of silvery clouds
encircling the distant mountain as the full moon came up. Wilbur pulled us up
and down the hamlet’s lanes nestled up against the mountain. Once our gate was
astride on the thin ice we didn’t want to return, a calmness seeped inward.
Waking with swollen glands extenuated the horror that
I might be allergic to fur. Ah…….. Wilber insisted in curling up at our feet
not a delight to my spouse, by morning his whiskers bristled my face that I mistook
for Hal’s stubbles. When I came through I couldn’t distinguish whose morning breathes
was oh so sweet.
An abrupt knock came at the door and two lovely girls
asked to walk Wilbur? Smiles caste a joy I’d forgotten about the uninhibited
lives of children that immediately engulfed me. Skipping down the lane hand in
hand with a great responsibility at hand, they informed me with affirmation
that they were paid for their services.
We took a long walk along the valley’s cycling trails
up into the Nordic Center. A lovely cup of tea was shared with Hal’s favorite
pumpkin bread at Good Earth as we dawdled for some time discussing life, our
children, and our blessings.
Sunday brought Catholic Church with the sermon as
consistent as the tidal ebbs never veering from its course or timely ending. How
sad substance has been replaced by speed. We diverted the cakes and coffee, a
Lenten restraint and walked over to Beamer’s for directions up the mount to the
Goat Creek Trail towards Banff.
Hand in hand with the man I love nothing could be more
perfect. The sun at our backs with only God’s wonders in our vision, how truly
blessed we are. The hours passed as the silence echoed naught into our ears.
A last supper together and an endearing walk with the
K-9 as Hal departed back to the city. Leaving me to do up the dishes, the
laundry, and yes, you guessed cleaning the litter boxes. Much to my dismay it
wasn’t the pulling of the nails that I had expected. The smell wasn’t there,
either that or I was so stuffed up I couldn’t tell, either way the job was done
within minutes.
Without warning the howling sounds, a cacophony in its
most literal sense, an unharmonious noise reverberated throughout the house.
Door knobs rattled, frames shook violently while the animals whined in chorus
frightened by Mother Nature’s remunerations.
Day 4-5 became the sequel to the Shining called the
Shimmering.
My glands have now turned into goiters churning out phlegm
like lava field. Food isn’t necessary as I haven’t been able to smell anything
in 4 days. Swallowing has taken on a new appreciation as the pain in only
alleviated with lozenges. Claritin I can now attest does little to
alleviate my misery. Throbbing head, achy neck, plugged ears popping sleeping
pills to witness nightmares of Jack Nicolson trapping me in his grip with cat
in hand killing me slowly by exposure.
Oh….and the sight of the bed…..blankets strewn hither
and thither….heaped between wet tissues to catch the inevitable drips during
the night. Yellow catarrh has blood it in now from blowing so fervently along
with raw hands and this was my dream vacation??
Alas tomorrow is my departure……the sounds of cat
purring, hissing, biting, scratching and gnawing that I thought once to be
endearing will be swept away with the hurricane winds. For three days and three
nights the foundation has clattered relentlessly leaving the cats jittery,
in a state of panic, claws extended ready to shred their next victim. I knew
Exshaw to be breezy but this is off the Richter scale. I tried to walk Wilbur this morning and
he hid behind a tree. With ears tucked back he mustered all his might a 15 lb.
mutt can and pushed through a gale winds in all directions.
The quiet solitude has allowed me to write and to this
I am very grateful. No phone calls, few texts, only emails in the morning
leaving me time to enjoy and reminiscing the many pot lucks, pre-ski
breakfasts, grand chats and warm nights beside the fireplace with gracious
friends. This has all but made for the unforeseen feline allergies, so much so
I might return. Isn’t that what pregnant women do vow to never have another
during childbirth then linger in the arms of a man and without notice another
is upon them. The mind the mind what a wonderful tool it plays tricks with
those that aren’t watching.
