Fridays

There's something about Friday nights.  Herself isn't quite sure what that something is, exactly.  It's something tricky, something nebulous, something nameless and colorless and ever-so-slightly disconcerting.

Normally Herself enjoys a fair amount of solitude.  Every other evening of the week, if Beloved Husband is traveling or working late or out at a function, she's quite comfortable closing up the house and going upstairs by herself.  Not a problem.  She never begrudges him being out -- he does what he needs to do, and she does what needs to be done, as always.

Friday nights without adult company, though, are Very Difficult Indeed.

Why Friday?  She does not know.  She doesn't talk about the something about Fridays, because it is so inexplicable, and so seemingly inconsequential, that it sounds nearly ridiculous to try to describe the deep-rooted unease that appears on those nights.

One of the reasons Herself took up sparring in taekwondo was because there was a Friday evening sparring class.  It occupied the time perfectly, took Herself out of the house long enough that she could avoid the cloud that would otherwise descend in the evening.  It was good.  Now that she's retired from taekwondo, though, the Friday disquiet creeps back. And it is even more enveloping than ever.

Nights such as tonight, Herself is especially grateful for company on a Friday.

Such a blessing.

Amen.

Tamed

Les hommes ont oublié cette vérité, dit le renard. Mais tu ne dois pas l’oublier. Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé. - Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince

Je n'ai pas l'intention de apprivoiser les autres, mais ils sont devenus apprivoisés, et maintenant je suis responsable. J'espère seulement que je suis capable de prendre soin d'eux tous.

Une question demeure: ai-je été apprivoisé?

The Little Prince, his rose and the fox were found at 3polkadots.com, here.

So Much Noise

He began to speak. His voice was soft, and the words were in no tongue she had ever heard. The sound of them came into her heart like rain falling. She grew still to listen. - Ursula K. Le Guin, The Tombs of Atuan

Some days, all the little sounds chafe and grate:  the leaf-blower in a neighbor's yard; the squeak of the chair, the rattle of something in the car, the ka-klonk of the washing machine switching gears. The protective barking of Tiny Dog, so shrill.  Traffic. Ticking of clocks.  Hum of the oven fan.  The mundane eating noises:  chewing, swallowing, slurping, gulping -- those are the worst, an unintended unpleasant unpleasant noise like nails on the chalkboard of the eardrum.  Shudder.

We would love to hear solely the subtler sounds of nature - a light rain, birds in the trees, murmur of a brook.   And quiet voices, not asking questions, not needing answers, but instead, providing thoughts and stories like a warm soothing blanket of words.  We could just listen.  That would be lovely. 

His voice was cloves and nightingales, it took us to spice markets in the Celebs, we drifted with him on a houseboat beyond the Coral Sea. We were like cobras following a reed flute. - Janet Fitch, White Oleander

Photograph copyright 2012, 2014, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

Bathtime

Tiny Dog was a tad stinky, and so, she was washed.

(Gloves were worn to protect Herself's chapped winter skin. There's no doubt the gloves would be completely ineffectual against Tiny Dog dentition.  Fortunately, Tiny Dog was more a-tremble than bitey.)

All clean.

Beannacht

On the day when
The weight deadens
On your shoulders
And you stumble,
May the clay dance
To balance you.

And when your eyes
Freeze behind
The grey window
And the ghost of loss
Gets into you,
May a flock of colours,
Indigo, red, green
And azure blue,
Come to awaken in you
A meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
In the currach of thought
And a stain of ocean
Blackens beneath you,
May there come across the waters
A path of yellow moonlight
To bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
May the clarity of light be yours,
May the fluency of the ocean be yours,
May the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
Wind work these words
Of love around you,
An invisible cloak
To mind your life.

-- John O'Donohue

Photograph copyright 2012, 2014, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

A few words

Herself is working on her book -- a wee bit at a time -- once more. 

I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine. ― Emily Dickinson

Le Serpent

'Où sont les hommes ?' reprit enfin le petit prince. 'On est un peu seul dans le désert.'
'On est seul aussi chez les hommes', dit le serpent.

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Le Petit Prince

Baby rattlesnake.  Photo taken in October, 2011, in City of Rocks State Park, NM