Weather or Not....

Have lit a fire in the wood stove, which is burning nicely now, casting a good heat, and am comfortably settled in, at least for a while, to write a long overdue post. Glass of well deserved wine at hand.

We've been hit by a series of freakish storms over the past few weeks, starting with snow, which I told you about, and then rain, wind, and more rain and wind. Nearly 200,000 homes out of power at one point, some of them for days, some of them still, a week later. Horrible for them. We ourselves have been very lucky.

I had oil candles burning a lot, just in case the power went, so as not to have to grope in the dark for light. It did go out, too, but just for a minute at a time, in quick succession- one, two, three, right after a large flash of light in the dark and furious night sky, and then the power came back on. Thank heaven for small mercies. We are so dependant on modern conveniences...

Sitting on the couch, looking out the large windows, I watched the fir and balsam trees being lashed by hurricane-force winds, and I was afraid. Rain pounded slantwise on the house, almost horizontal, hammering the windows, despite two foot soffits (eaves). The tin roof made a noise like a train. I was afraid, watching those trees bend to impossible angles, back and forth, back and forth, branches flying off in all directions and setting off the motion detecting lights on the studio. I was so worried that one of them, the top of a tree, probably, would break off and come hurtling in through the window where I sat, making a direct line, like a compass to north, to impale my head. Visions of a bad disaster movie. Drama queen, I know.... I've never actually been scared of a wind storm before, but I tell you, the elements meant business. It was terrible. Aside from the ruined gutters (from snow) we've sustained little damage, I'm glad to report. We were so lucky.

Meanwhile, I am feeling more confident at work, but still have the looming spectre of potential unemployment hovering at the periphery. Hours have been cut due to the overall numbers coming in, and there is nothing I can do about that. I'm beginning to see things more philosophically now, and trying to regain my sense of humour. Had a compliment about my work the other day, which was nice (and almost brought me to tears, it was so unexpectedly kind), from one of the 'top' people, and I haven't had a lot of those.

The Christmas party went well, last weekend. I was a bit worried that chins would be wagging, and that there would be a flurry of gossip because we ended up sitting at the owner's table. Kind of an honour, like sitting at the captain's table, you know? And only the important office people were sitting there. B and I arrived a little late, fashionably, of course, and were hunting around for vacant seats, and were simply invited by the owner to join them. Gobsmacked. But actually I shouldn't have been. They are seriously nice people and utterly without pretension. It was a nice evening, but I was so tired from a truly hellish day, and we left sort of early. Just after dinner the speeches, and 'secret santa' gift exchanges.... and before the dancing and the very ribald revelry started. I heard rumours of some of the behaviour and goings on and frankly was glad I was not there to see it. I don't think I should mention it in this blog! So far no one has said a word about our exalted seating arrangements. Which is good. The drama of other people's behaviour superseded any gossip we might have have generated. Thank all Gods.

I was always up for a laugh, in the old days. I was always joking, and saw the funny side of things. A healthy sense of the ridiculous, I used to say. Before the truth of infertility, before the memories of childhood trauma returned, before my marriage died.... I used to be funny.

I'm starting to regain my funny bone, I think.

A case in point occurred most humorously last week when I accidentally mooned the entire store for 1/2 the day. I kid you not. I realised at lunch time that my pants zipper - at the back- had split, and every time I leaned over to get a bag to deposit a customer's items into, I must have been exposing my arse. Mind you, I was wearing dark leggings as long johns underneath my black trousers (I'm near one of the doors and the winter gusting winds tend to apply a frigid draft up my aft, so added protection in the undergarment department is a must...) Perhaps no one noticed? Having between 300 and 500 people come through my till a day, I wonder what are the odds.... ? Huh. No wonder everyone was so friendly! :)

I just had to laugh. I think that means I am on the mend.....

Other than that, am settling in to the rhythm of work more and more, still not in the studio on days off, but am feeling that that will come...soon. Things with B are good. We're broke, but what else is new?

B is over at a friend's right now, doing his guy bonding thing, and I have the place to myself for the night. The cats and dogs want feeding, which I'll tend to, and then I'll sit down on the couch with a Diana Gabaldon book, to reread. (Oooh, that Jamie! I want to be Claire when I grow up!) The night is calm, with hardly a drop of rain, but everything smells sharply damp and fresh in that coldly winter wet way, with mare's tails wisping across the night sky. Star light seeping through the clouds, very gently, in places here and there. There is no storm tonight. I'll light a lantern anyway, and some candles.

I like the feeling of being in that light.

Its been a good day. Moreover, I've had the most gorgeous, lengthy and rambling talk with my best friend, who lives in England. Food for the Soul. Absolute heart nourishment.

Later:

Oh damn.

Shit. Piss. Fuck.

Willy's gone missing. Nearly every Bloody time B stays over at Peter's for a guy's night, playing cards and drinking beer, which isnt that often anymore, frankly, William goes off on walkabout. How does he know that B's not coming home tonight? HOW does he know?

Shit. Fuck. Piss; Goddamn sonofabitch.

I guess that fence I thought I repaired so well isnt actually repaired very well at all. It wouldnt matter so much if Willie werent an epileptic....

Bloody, bloody, bloody hell. Now I'm having hell-scenario visions of Willie having gotten out onto the road and having a seisure just as a large truck comes barrelling down the hill....

Shit.

Later:

The prodigal son returns. But not before first Xena and I, and then a second attempt, Zeus and I went on search and rescue. He got out of the pen, of course, little monster, with no expressions of remorse, full of himself, and the delight of freedom. Wolf at heart....and he was fine. We encountered Pushkin during our travels who came home, following us at a run with a loud 'Prrriiirrrup!'. Dont ask. He's a cat with sound effects. He's beautiful and very very cool.

Everyone is finally contentedly ensconced, and under roof, and I will have pasta for dinner now. Everyone is safe. Phew. I can relax at last and read my book.

Jeeze. About time. Bloody hell, what a day.

I hope everyone out there is okay.....