As I remarked to Jodi in mid massage on Wednesday, I hoped St Peter was keeping files up to date in his book of good deeds, with appropriate rewards to come - three weeks off purgatory for an act of exceptional good neighbourliness and the like. (I'm assuming that purgatory hasn't joined limbo in the celestial deleted folder).
The trouble, I confided - expanding on my theme as Jodi gripped my left leg - is that one can never be sure whether one's good deeds are going to bear fruit - never mind the ominous corollary! Jodi agreed; there was no knowing. These days, I reflected punnily, St Peter was probably keeping his records in the cloud.
ELDERLY MAN FALLS ASLEEP AFTER SUPPER
What prompted these reflections were our efforts to help an elderly neighbour renew her passport. (I use the word "elderly" with caution, uncertain at exactly what point one falls into the category.) The first hurdle was obtaining a new passport photo - awkward because the photo shop in Loule has recently closed down. Instead I took some pictures with our camera in the hope that I could adjust the printer settings to meet the consulate's 5x5cm photo requirements.
The second hurdle was obtaining the requisite postal order - for €105. When I asked the man in the Loule post office if I could buy one for a neighbour, he said no; the neighbour had to appear in person with passport to facilitate the now automated process.
So we went along. The post office couldn't have been more helplful, even finding a bottle of paper glue to seal our reused envelope before registering the same.
Another task, almost as demanding, has been preventing Pally from going walkabout whenever the mood takes him. He's a restless fellow who takes a dim view of confinement and loves nothing more than to roam the countryside in full yap.
Jones and I checked our several hundred metres of fencing in a bid to discover where he was getting out. Since a foot of fresh vegetation covers much of the fence base, this proved to be a lengthy job. Of a hole in the fence we could discover no sign.
SPARKY - AS SHE USED TO LOOK
Jones came to the conclusion that Pally was squeezing out through the gap beneath the main gates. The dog is somewhat thinner than his sisters who would no doubt have been delighted to follow him had they not plumped up in the year that they've been with us.
SPARKY AS SHE LOOKS NOW
So, having obtained the necessary materials and plugged the drill into the extension cord, I lay down on the cobbles to go about blocking Pally's passage. The dogs took a close interest in proceedings, occasionally sitting on my tummy or my face, the better to see what I was up to.
I left enough room to allow the cats to get through the gap. Although the orphans have become accustomed to the presence of the cats around the house, in the garden they consider the felines fair game. Their joyful whoops give the game away. So the cats, who like to spend time in the fields, often make a beeline from the front door to the gates (and vice versa) in order to avoid the gauntlet.
One afternoon, ahead of promised rain, Jones and I set about scattering fertilizer pellets under our carob trees - an annual task. I don't know how many carob trees we have but it's quite a lot - several dozen. And since we obtained the Inacio plot last year, the number has grown. The more trees we fertilized, the more we became aware of the carobs that still lay beneath them. Jones has subsequently spent hours picking them up.
I didn't join her. Picking things up - other than bugs - isn't my forte, although I did assist Slavic to fill the tractor box with stones last weekend. We made five tractor trips down to Joachim's carob plantation to raid his rock mountains - the residue from the bulldozer clearance of the plot years earlier.
I kneel down and toss small stones into the box with one hand while supporting myself with the other. Slavic collects the serious rocks, the ones used mainly to face the walls we are building. The small stones go for back-filling.
In my English class we discussed the crime wave afflicting Loule. Half a dozen businesses have been the victims of brazen raids. Although windows are broken in the middle of the night, nobody appears to hear a thing. Traders are up in arms, accusing the council and the police of sitting on their hands. For my part, I'm glad to live in a peaceful village in the hills, far from the tumultuous world without.
THE BROWN HOUSE IS VALAPENA - CASA NADA TO THE RIGHT
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