Open Letter To Doug February Edition
Poopers, Serial Killers, Meerkat Impressions
Hi there Doug!
It’s early on Sunday morning and I’m sitting in bed watching the wind of the cool change that’s blown in give the small Crab Apple trees in the front yard a thrashing. I was even awake before Mr Rooster next door began crowing. I’m actually liking this change in the weather today. It’s more aligned with my mood and for some weird reason I feel connected and comforted by it. I’m learning not to question so much the weirdness that is grief.
Speaking of that old chestnut grief, this month’s grief manifestation is in the form of mess.
I’ve always had to work at being tidy and mostly succeed… well, on the surface, just don’t open a drawer or a cupboard or everything will fling out at your face like a can of snakes practical joke (only it won’t be a joke – you may be buried under there for some time before anyone hears your cries for help!) You were always much better at drawer tidiness than me. I’m slightly pleased you can’t see your side of the bathroom vanity storage because it is frown worthy.
There’s unopened mail, washing on the pantry benches, clothes strewn on the bed, junk on the dining table and dishes in the sink. I’ve been so tired and just can’t be bothered. I’m bloody over it so I’ve decided today is the day to take back control… or at the very least do more shoving of things into cupboards and drawers to greet me at a later date. Not ideal I know, but it will bring some sense of calm and space to my brain and that’s a good place to start I reckon.
The garden is looking a bit sad right now Doug. I pruned the Seaside Daisy ground cover with the whipper snipper just like a colossal man prune so it looks like mounds of dead brown sticks right now. Some visitors to the house were horrified. They tried to hide their “Oh my god, what has she done” expressions but I assured them that Seaside Daisy is like the cockroach of the plant world – you can’t kill it – that’s why I grow it. And just when I started to doubt my own words the fresh new growth has started to appear. Must admit I am secretly breathing a sigh of relief. I’m not sure if I want to keep the garden but I think it’s more a reflection of everything giving me the shits right now so I won’t make any rash decisions around it while I’m feeling grumpy.
Shall I tell you about Christmas? I think not. It was bloody hard without you and I mean no disrespect to the people who were here trying to make it fun and okay.
I’ve decided I’m not hosting next Christmas. I’ll be sitting on a beach somewhere sharing a picnic with the seagulls and anyone who wants to spend Christmas with me will be welcome to join in. They’ll need to bring their own picnic to share with my feathered friends because I won’t be catering for anyone or anything else other than me and the squawkers. Selfish? You bet your arse! Do I care? Of course I do Doug and the remorse and guilt I feel already around this decision is eating at me and its only February. Thankfully I have ten more months to kick that guilt to the curb. I shall not weaken.
Summer evenings have been quite balmy and I’ve taken to sitting outside for a while at night after Mum goes to bed. It’s kind of like hitting the reset button on the day before I retreat to my messy bedroom for broken sleep.
During one of these evening sittings, I wrote a story for you about a girl named Janey… spoiler alert, I’m Janey:
Janey walked out the front door onto the porch and left the staleness of the closed-up house behind her. It had been a very hot day so every door, window and blind had been shut tight to keep out the stifling heat making the recycled air unpleasant by day's end.
It was a beautiful summer's night. Outside everything was as still as could be. All things were in recovery mode after having the energy sucked out of them all day long by Summer that decided to arrive all in one go without gradual integration.
She managed to find a spot on the porch seat not marked by the resident mudlark pooper. Why that bird insisted on perching there using it as a personal toilet when there was a perfectly good park across the road and a row of gum trees in the neighbouring paddock for privacy pooping she’d never know.
No sooner had Janey sat down on the cleanest spot possible she was privileged to see a shooting star in the clearest of night skies and soon after a satellite appeared to be on a collision course with the Sailors Saucepan constellation but managed to pass by without the impending doom she imagined.
Her eyes closed, her breath slowed and for a moment in time she was transported back to the yard of her old home she had shared with her late husband. There, on nights just like this, they would often sit on the verandah together gazing at the same constellations in another time now past. The skies were a little clearer there, the stars somewhat brighter and the outline of mountains, where ancestors drove cattle, rose from the landscape beyond.
For a moment she could feel the warmth of her husband’s body and his arms wrapped around her while they sat engulfed in the wonder of their surroundings not needing words. Those arms he thought were useless as a result of years of Rheumatoid Arthritis were full of nothing but strength, stability and comfort for Janey. Without them she felt as weak as a lone feather drifting aimlessly on a breeze. If only he knew what strength his presence held… if only.
As usual something went ‘bump in the night’ and Janie found herself coming back to the present on the poop laden porch with a fright, her stillness and calm now shattered. Of course her overzealous imagination told her the noise was a serial killer tripping over something in the shadows so she promptly went inside and deadlocked the door behind her.
Snuggled in the safety of their once shared bed she closed her eyes and breathed deeply once more, falling back into that feeling of strength and togetherness just long enough to contently float off to sleep.
I don’t know why I wrote this story in this way about Janey which is really about us. I just did!
In other news I’m still taking my friends dog, Mildred the expert sniffer, on walking adventures. She cracks me up with her meerkat impersonations bouncing along on her hind legs so she can spy rabbits that may be scurrying away in the distance. Also, she likes to bark a lot at things that aren’t even there.
We have many the discussion about this on our walks – sometimes I win the discussion and sometimes Mildred is not interested in discussing it all and ignores my very existence. If she pretends I’m not really there she is free to continue giving whatever it is a right tongue lashing. Often its other people walking their dog on her patch without a prior note of permission from her. She’s a crack up alright. I’m so fortunate to have such lovely friends as neighbours who let me take their pooch on my walks.
Mum’s doing okay Doug. She had another fall the other day and we thought she’d broken her wrist but thankfully it was only a sprain. Still quite painful though. Geez I’m glad you and I don’t have to navigate the Emergency Department at our local hospital with frequency anymore. Crikey it’s so busy and the staff there are run off their feet. Wait times are through the roof. Not pleasant for patients or staff.
That’s about all I have time for today Doug. There’s more to tell you but you never were a big reader and I reckon your eyes would be almost glazing over by this stage.
Until next time.
All my love,
Sandra Xx
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Thank you Xx
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There's something really magical about sitting outside at night, isn't there? Like the world is letting out a gentle exhale before another day dawns. PS: a BYO beach Christmas is a bloody good idea!