This letter starts mid-morning on Thursday because that’s as good a time as any. It’s also our first free morning of the week. Monday and Wednesday mornings bring lessons, while Natasha comes on Tuesdays (sometimes with Dani).We are having morning tea; that’s to say, tomato sandwiches and milky coffee.
The tomatoes are about an hour old, having been picked from George Vieira’s tomato fields during our walk and carried home on our backs. The sandwiches are cut from yesterday’s bread, made by Marie in her bread-making machine and presented to us in appreciation of the removal of two tractor loads of oleander cuttings from her gate – with one more to come. The cuttings were reduced to a small pile of mulch the same afternoon. It’s amazing how plants shrink when you take the air out of them. I guess that applies to most things.
I hesitate to say it’s been a busy week because you will think you’ve read this letter before. But idle it certainly hasn’t been. One sad duty was to assist elderly friends with the death of their old dog. The dog, a large (48kgs) animal, had been suffering from cancer for some time. In spite of strong pain-killers it was evidently in growing discomfort from the swelling tumour on its shoulder. With a little help the friends prepared a grave in their garden and I then took the vet to the house to put the dog down. It took three of us to carry the animal to its final resting place.
The vet confided, as I returned him to the surgery, that cancers, along with arthritis, were increasingly common in pets, probably because they – like us – are living longer. He said he found himself being asked to destroy ever more animals in distress. Jones had specially prepared a plant for me to give the friends in memory of their dog. And, of course, I forgot it in the back of the car, which didn’t make me the flavour of the month.
The plant was duly presented the following day when we returned to install a new printer on the friends’ recently-acquired notebook computer (replacing an ancient desktop model). The notebook’s USB ports wouldn’t take the parallel connection from the old printer. Assistants in the computer shops swore blind that there was no way around the conflict. One has to say that the old printer was nearing retirement, in computer accessory age, that is. If a dog ages the equivalent of seven years during one of ours, I reckon that a computer ages at least ten. Jones would probably double that estimate, given my proclivity for acquiring new equipment.
From a number of pictures that Jones took during a barbecue one evening, it is evident to me that the fairies have been busy stealing my hair at night.
The balding pate is quite undeniable, a scene that brings me no pleasure. I guess it’s a case of resigning oneself to the inevitable. I could never bring myself to salve my pride by combing my hair across my head – not that it’s that bad yet. I certainly don’t buy all that “looks sexy” rubbish. Frank Sinatra didn’t have a hair implant because his balding head turned the fans on.We all know that people’s self image doesn’t always align itself with the real thing. I have always tended to be kind to myself. In my mind’s eye my head is hairier and my figure trimmer than the mirror generally allows. In short I feel better about myself than I have a right to, except when the illusion is shattered by a wayward mirror or a photograph. There is little doubt that if I were looking at any anybody who looked exactly like me, I would think him a funny-looking guy.
The barbecue was a good one. I have learned to sizzle the sausages to perfection. It’s only the chicken kebabs that weren’t up to scratch. Although they were crisp on the outside, they were a mite rare inside. Putting them back on the grill led to an over-crisp exterior. I don’t know why. The fire was just right. I suspect that chicken kebabs are plain ornery and that’s all there is to it. Anyhow, the dogs think I’m a top chef and Jones was complimentary – except about the chicken.If the 10-day weather forecast is correct we may have rain next Friday. That will be very nice. Our protracted Indian summer is starting to test our nerves. The skies remain incorrigibly blue, the days interminably sunny. I have been using the air-conditioner to remain cool in the car. One really has a sense that the world is out of kilter. If it does rain next Friday, I shall not be here to experience it. We are off to Lisbon on Wednesday and I continue to London and Calgary on Thursday. Barbara will have the company of British friends until the end of the week. I shall probably not write again until my return towards the end of November.
Now it’s Friday. We are back from our walk.
I took some pictures along the way, of an ancient mouldering tractor, villagers, the public water tap and so on. The dogs are snoozing in the car, their favourite place (towels on the seats to keep them clean). Jones is watering the garden and putting mulch around the base of her plants. We’ve had to fall back on the cisterna for several days because the pump in the parish borehole has apparently broken down (again). Whatever the case, nobody in the village has had any water.
It’s not really a problem – unless it continues beyond a week - as everyone has a fall-back supply.
Jones has planted two small walnut trees, acquired from a nearby field with the owner’s blessing. That’s along with more fig trees and shrubs. As soon as I’ve finished this, I need to fill a dozen 20-litre plastic containers with water and to deposit them alongside various vines and young trees in the adjacent field. It saves us heaving water over by hand. We shouldn’t have to irrigate anything at this time of year (yes, I know, I’ve already done the weather) but that’s the way it is.
Then I must finish the mulching and have another crack at the spiny weeds that survived the first round of poison spray. If there’s time I’ll also finish cutting away the growth that is constricting the contour path that runs around the side of the hill. Perhaps I’ll have a little nap first to muster my resources.
Of course, it’s not all work. One has to keep the mind active as well. I have finished reading THE TROUBLE WITH PHYSICS by Lee Smolin. While I enjoyed the book, I understood almost as little of it as I did of THE EMPEROR’S NEW MIND by Roger Penrose. The book tries to explain why there has been so little progress in the field of string theory in spite of the enormous resources put into the study of it. I am consoled by Mr Smolin’s assurance that the problem may lie more with string theory itself than with the reader’s attempts to grasp it.
My latest bed-time reading is THE ANCESTOR’S TALE by Richard Dawkins. I’ve read most of his books and I think he’s brilliant – however people may feel about his sermons on atheism. At least atheists don’t go around blowing up infidels and expecting to be rewarded in heaven.
According to a UK security chief, there are at least 2,000 people in Britain who are dabbling in terrorist activities – even if they’re just on the fringes. That’s scary - like the security arrangements at Chicago’s O’Hare airport where more than 100 workers were discovered with fake security passes. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?
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