Song of the day: Amy McDonald “Mr. Rock & Roll”. It came up sporadically, but it was there. Not a bad song to have stuck in your head, though. I’m moving up…I hope.
A much-interrupted edit is the main theme this morning, more pressing matters taking precedence, and all that. We only manage a page or two, and add another half in a short writing session, for no other reason than that it is necessary to explain some minor choke points in the story through dialogue. Not bad, but it doesn’t go as smoothly as I would have liked. I’m scatterbrained today.
It is a beautiful warm day…well after noon that is. Though it started out cloudy, a warm southern breeze blew in and dissipated the obstructions in the sky, making the temperature warm but fresh when we head on out into the yard.
During the past two months the vines in the lower part of the garden have been sweeping up en mass, slowly, but steadily making their way up the plants once more. This warrants another trimming session for everyone on this rather pleasant May day.
With gloves, scythes and hedge cutters we tackle the out-of-control plants, much like we did at the end of winter. We are charmed by the sight of white Oleander blooming cheerfully, however. Roses of a deep red peek from under their canopy and the bougainvillea show fresh sprouts of a vibrant green…we feared that they hadn’t survived the disaster area, the lower garden resemble back then, but they have. Yay.
The dogs thoroughly enjoy the trip down, rushing back and forth, barging through fresh undergrowth. Even Bommel has followed us down, though he took almost half an hour to get there. The poor Bobtail still wants to keep up with the rest of the pack when he can barely see or hear at all. In the end he finds me working in the under brushes, however, and settles down in the shade.
We spend several hours cutting through the incredibly nifty fines, marveling each and every time at how fast they recovered from the massive removal it suffered through during the last gardening session. I guess that they REALLY enjoyed the few rain storms we had in the past couple of months. Huge clusters are twining their way up the trees, the dark green leaves vibrant with life and their first deep purple flowers rearing their heads in all their glory.
Since the car needs to be brought to the garage for its yearly checkup, both sisters head up to clean the cab so it will have a semblance of cleanness. Can’t give a bad impression, naturally.
By the time we’re done in the lower part of the garden and head on up to the house, big brother and grandpa head out to quickly get a last load of sand. While they’re gone I decide to make some dinner for a change. On the way up, it becomes clear that Bommel has lost his way, so I need to go back, pick him up and carry him to the part of the yard that he is intimately familiar with. Poor dog is completely wiped out from the trip down.
But let’s get back to dinner. God, even thinking about it now my mouth waters. Hah.
I’m in the mood for Indian, something sturdy and tasteful.
Curried potatoes with cauliflower on the side are just what we need after today.
Well, since I’m thinking about this anyway, I figure I might as well deviate from the course a bit and give the recipe. It’s easy and really good, so give it a shot sometime.
Curried Potatoes
6 persons
Potatoes: 12-18 Diced, small cubes.
Onion: 1-2 Chopped.
Garlic: 3-6 cloves. Minced.
Sugar: 1-2 teaspoon.
Salt: 1-3 teaspoon.
Olive oil/sunflower seed oil.
Yogurt: 400 gr.
Apricot jam: 1-2 tablespoon.
Spices:
Curcuma: 1-3 teaspoon.
Cilantro/Koreander: 1-2 teaspoon
Cardamom: A large pinch.
Cumin: 1 teaspoon.
Paprika: 1-2 teaspoon.
Pepper: A small pinch-1/2 teaspoon.
Or: A basic Curry mix 2-4 teaspoon.
Preparation:
Peel your potatoes (or wash them really well if you prefer them with the peel, it’s also tasteful and very healthy). Pour some oil into a large skillet or wok and heat with all spices except the Cilantro/Koreander and paprika. Don’t let it burn, it happens really fast. Add your garlic and leave on a low burn until the garlic starts to bake.
Pour in the potatoes and turn up the heat a bit. After a few stirs…the potatoes should be getting warm…add the two remaining spices, sugar, salt and the union. Stir frequently while the mix heats. When the first crusts start to form put in the yogurt and apricot jam and let it all simmer on medium-high flame until the potatoes are close to soft and have turned to a deep ochre. Lots of crusting is advisable. Makes it better.
For serving, add some cottage cheese or yogurt on top. It’s delicious.
Now, I hear a lot of people who don’t like Cauliflower dishes, but this one is an all time favorite in my family. Give it a try sometimes.
Cauliflower with mustard seeds.
4-6 person.
Cauliflower: 1 mid-size. Roughly chopped or diced.
Olive oil/Sunflower seed oil
Mustard: 1 teaspoon.
Sugar: 1 teaspoon.
Salt: 1 teaspoon.
Pepper: 1 pinch.
Spices:
Curcuma: 1-2 teaspoon.
Cylantro/Koreander: 1 teaspoon.
Mustard seeds: 2-3 tablespoons.
Preparation:
Heat the oil with both spices and mustard seeds on a low fire until the first seeds start to pop. Throw in the cauliflower pieces, add sugar, salt and pepper and stir. Let it bake for about ten to fifteen minutes, stir every three minutes or so. Be careful not to let the vegetable get mushy, crusts are fine, but the vegetable needs to stay slightly crispy for the best taste.
Well, how’s that for deviating, huh? Hah.
Anyways, after dinner big brother, grandpa and I head out to get another load of rocks from the spot we noticed yesterday. It takes only thirty minutes to fill up the back of the truck and soon we’re back home, just when the sun sets and darkness falls.
We unload the lot with the help of little brother and then go inside to resume with the edit.
I have considerable trouble with it tonight. For some reason I am unable to create the distance I need to look at the story, pages, paragraphs and sentences objectively. But we struggle through and finally finish up the day when we reach today’s quota. I’m not in the best of moods when I bring my dogs up to the cabin…the inability to focus on an edit, like to tonight, makes me grumpy.
I really should be in a better mood tomorrow, if not…well, then I’m going to be really ticked off with myself. Hah.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Flyby post
Song of the day: Nelly Furtado “Turn off the light” which is definitely a good one. It was of course followed by Sandy Shaw with “Puppet on a string” so there goes my good taste right out the door. Hah.
I wake up twenty minutes late, but who cares. Well, I do, since it means that I’ll have to scramble to catch up all day long. What follows is…Hmmm, just fill in the morning rituals and we’ve got the morning covered. I am a little sore today, yesterday’s run is making my muscles protest, but once I get going, it subsides to a more than bearable level.
On to more interesting stuff:
Excellent edit today. We manage an entire chapter in the rewrite/edit, so that is reason for a good “Yay!” Wonderful scene, great imagery and a complicated dialogue between the heroine’s multiple personalities…all five of them.
Set the scene inside your head and imagine arguing with five different aspects of yourself. Now, if all were similar identities this wouldn’t be all that bad, but if you add the fact that they’re complete opposites-motherly peacemaker, humorous go-getter, ditzy sex bomb, temperamental aggressor and a personality that is ruthless and emotionless¾you’ve got one heck of a conversation to enjoy.
I love this scene. It might very well be the most profound one in the entire book, since it explains so much…well to me it’s profound anyway. If someone else does still remains to be seen. Hah.
Nothing lifts the spirits as much as a good edit like this; in particular, when it hardly needs any editing. Makes me want to bounce in my seat, really.
It would have been nice to continue a bit longer, but as it turns out, we need to head up to our tenant’s place because she has lost fake teeth during the night and her caretaker can’t find them anywhere. It’s up to big brother and me to take the room apart to search for it.
Thirty minutes later, we find it wedged in a narrow strip between two walls. The relief is rather big considering a new pair would have set our tenant back at least three hundred bucks.
With that settled, and all the furniture back in place, we head on down to the car so we can depart for another rock haul.
We turn south west today, heading on down into the valley on winding dirt roads in the bright afternoon sun that pounds down on the countryside as we steadily make our way across the bumpy paths.
It’s not until we come upon a rather deserted patch of road that we find a nice batch of rocks that are actually hot to the touch. The sun has been shining somewhat fierce, so it really shouldn’t have been surprising. We fill up the truck bed in a short time and start back on our way home. Underway we come upon a rather gorgeous spot where we can get at least another six loads, and make a mental note to visit it again.
Once home, after unloading, we head inside for the meal little sister has prepared during our absence. Simple, nutritious and tasteful. Can’t ask for more than that.
Dinner is followed up by another quick edit, sending out some messages and, of course, picking ticks off the dogs at regular intervals. The little parasites are brittle again, close to death, and I’ll admit to being a tad (rather cruelly) gleeful over that fact.
They come off the dogs with little prompting and that is a plus to say the least.
The evening comes to a pleasantly calm end, and once I arrive in my cabin, big brother, grandpa and I spent a long time talking about the day and future plans before I’m late, as usual and settle down for today’s Blog.
Oh my. I actually managed to get the whole thing on one page. Miracles never cease to exist, or so it appears. Hah
I wake up twenty minutes late, but who cares. Well, I do, since it means that I’ll have to scramble to catch up all day long. What follows is…Hmmm, just fill in the morning rituals and we’ve got the morning covered. I am a little sore today, yesterday’s run is making my muscles protest, but once I get going, it subsides to a more than bearable level.
On to more interesting stuff:
Excellent edit today. We manage an entire chapter in the rewrite/edit, so that is reason for a good “Yay!” Wonderful scene, great imagery and a complicated dialogue between the heroine’s multiple personalities…all five of them.
Set the scene inside your head and imagine arguing with five different aspects of yourself. Now, if all were similar identities this wouldn’t be all that bad, but if you add the fact that they’re complete opposites-motherly peacemaker, humorous go-getter, ditzy sex bomb, temperamental aggressor and a personality that is ruthless and emotionless¾you’ve got one heck of a conversation to enjoy.
I love this scene. It might very well be the most profound one in the entire book, since it explains so much…well to me it’s profound anyway. If someone else does still remains to be seen. Hah.
Nothing lifts the spirits as much as a good edit like this; in particular, when it hardly needs any editing. Makes me want to bounce in my seat, really.
It would have been nice to continue a bit longer, but as it turns out, we need to head up to our tenant’s place because she has lost fake teeth during the night and her caretaker can’t find them anywhere. It’s up to big brother and me to take the room apart to search for it.
Thirty minutes later, we find it wedged in a narrow strip between two walls. The relief is rather big considering a new pair would have set our tenant back at least three hundred bucks.
With that settled, and all the furniture back in place, we head on down to the car so we can depart for another rock haul.
We turn south west today, heading on down into the valley on winding dirt roads in the bright afternoon sun that pounds down on the countryside as we steadily make our way across the bumpy paths.
It’s not until we come upon a rather deserted patch of road that we find a nice batch of rocks that are actually hot to the touch. The sun has been shining somewhat fierce, so it really shouldn’t have been surprising. We fill up the truck bed in a short time and start back on our way home. Underway we come upon a rather gorgeous spot where we can get at least another six loads, and make a mental note to visit it again.
Once home, after unloading, we head inside for the meal little sister has prepared during our absence. Simple, nutritious and tasteful. Can’t ask for more than that.
Dinner is followed up by another quick edit, sending out some messages and, of course, picking ticks off the dogs at regular intervals. The little parasites are brittle again, close to death, and I’ll admit to being a tad (rather cruelly) gleeful over that fact.
They come off the dogs with little prompting and that is a plus to say the least.
The evening comes to a pleasantly calm end, and once I arrive in my cabin, big brother, grandpa and I spent a long time talking about the day and future plans before I’m late, as usual and settle down for today’s Blog.
Oh my. I actually managed to get the whole thing on one page. Miracles never cease to exist, or so it appears. Hah
Monday, May 18, 2009
Another busy one.
Song of the day: Cleopatra with “I want you back” (original Jackson 5). It’s a cute enough song, but to hear it a whole day is just a tad too much, thank you very much.
I’m actually amazed that my brain manages to retain the lyrics in the first place. I sure know that I can’t remember them this detailed when I’m actually trying to sing the song intentionally. Hah.
Considering that I’m way behind again, I’m really going to need to learn how to compile a recount a little more compact. Though last night I was reasonably in time, these days I start on the blog way too late. Like today.
Okay, for anyone who knows this Blog, the morning rituals can be skipped. It’s pretty basic and doesn’t alter all that much on a day-to-day basis.
I could, of course say it was a busy day and leave it at that, but seeing as that would completely annihilate the purpose of this thing that really wouldn’t be all that smart.
So, let’s skip to the edit.
Four more pages of the rewrite/edit get done during the first hours of the day. Wrapping up the battle scene, showing an entirely different personality that is not her own (the MPD patient, that is) and making her deal with it is today’s task…it is rather entertaining, on the whole, doing the rewrite as much as the original scene.
We actually laugh a lot with the humor that we insert into the scene.
Next, since the ticks are slowly increasing in their numbers again and are literally sucking the poor dogs dry, we decide to head on out to the pool to do a final dog washing…again…before we fill up the pool for human use this summer. It’s about time, too, considering the temperatures rose up to 27 degrees Celsius today. Summer is on the way for sure.
With most of us dressed in swimwear we repeat the procedure of washing the pack-this time adding just a bit more of the chemical, because so many of the parasites survived the last time. Basically, we all cover the same strategic positions as the last time. Me, up to my knees in the foul smelling mix, and the sibs hauling in one dog after the next as we steadily go through the pack.
It takes a little longer today. The dogs noticed what was up in less than a minute and the majority scattered, determined to steer clear of the pool entirely. Hah. We manage, however, dunking one after the other, until most of them are soaking wet.
There are only six more to go when the chemical stuff starts to sting my skin, so I head on out of the pool and leave the last few dogs to middle sister and big brother.
After hosing down every piece of skin that was exposed, I’m about to start getting ready to go for our planned run in the woods, when it becomes clear that little brother would really much rather build on the walls again today. Considering that he has been feeling poorly about Sita’s death and that the last batch of sand really needs to be used, we build instead…or, more accurately; too.
While we’re waiting for the first batch of cement to be mixed, we debate the options for a new dog that could replace Sita, but what with our funds being too low to even vaccinate the pack, we finally decide that we should at least wait until we’ve saved up enough to deal with that particular aspect.
It is not an easy decision to make, postponing getting a new pack member, but with today’s economy and all its effects, it really is the only options. We’ll just have to endure the sense of loss for the time being.
The debate stops when the cement is ready and we can start working.
Sitabah (weimaraner) is watching me balefully all evening, actually. She wasn’t at all appreciative of the dunking she received during the washing session, but I bear it, (rather gladly) since she is staying at a yard’s distance at the very least while I haul rocks to add to my part of the wall.
Around seven thirty PM, the last bit of cement has been worked into the walls, and at least three layers have been added to a variety of sections where everyone is working separately.
Though dusk is rapidly approaching, we are determined to go for our jog. We wash up, change into sweats and tear off in the truck to head for our usual spot in the woods.
It doesn’t go bad at all; we manage at least three miles in decent time and less walking than the last time. (Yes, we actually checked by driving the car the same route afterwards, hah.)
Once home, it’s already getting dark and we eat spaghetti with vegetable sauce for dinner, made by little sister during our absence. It is a meal that is really appreciated after physical exercise, I’ve found. Nothing like devouring carbs to keep the energy levels up.
During dinner, we watch (sorta, anyway, since it’s playing anyway) this rather annoying show called “The Listener”. I don’t know what the creators were thinking when they made it, but there’s something seriously wrong with the plot and characters. Not to mention that the hero of the show bugs the heck out of me.
Afterwards, the TV goes off…there really isn’t anything interesting on…and big brother and I resume the read/edit, so we’ll be able to send another chapter to the proofreader. It doesn’t go as well as I had hoped, at first. We’re both pretty tired. But in the end, we do manage to go through a page or two, content that the changes made during the rewrite are good.
Then comes the usual trip up to my cabin, followed by the oh-so-familiar evening rituals before the night comes to an end. I could do with some shuteye about now that’s a fact.
I’m actually amazed that my brain manages to retain the lyrics in the first place. I sure know that I can’t remember them this detailed when I’m actually trying to sing the song intentionally. Hah.
Considering that I’m way behind again, I’m really going to need to learn how to compile a recount a little more compact. Though last night I was reasonably in time, these days I start on the blog way too late. Like today.
Okay, for anyone who knows this Blog, the morning rituals can be skipped. It’s pretty basic and doesn’t alter all that much on a day-to-day basis.
I could, of course say it was a busy day and leave it at that, but seeing as that would completely annihilate the purpose of this thing that really wouldn’t be all that smart.
So, let’s skip to the edit.
Four more pages of the rewrite/edit get done during the first hours of the day. Wrapping up the battle scene, showing an entirely different personality that is not her own (the MPD patient, that is) and making her deal with it is today’s task…it is rather entertaining, on the whole, doing the rewrite as much as the original scene.
We actually laugh a lot with the humor that we insert into the scene.
Next, since the ticks are slowly increasing in their numbers again and are literally sucking the poor dogs dry, we decide to head on out to the pool to do a final dog washing…again…before we fill up the pool for human use this summer. It’s about time, too, considering the temperatures rose up to 27 degrees Celsius today. Summer is on the way for sure.
With most of us dressed in swimwear we repeat the procedure of washing the pack-this time adding just a bit more of the chemical, because so many of the parasites survived the last time. Basically, we all cover the same strategic positions as the last time. Me, up to my knees in the foul smelling mix, and the sibs hauling in one dog after the next as we steadily go through the pack.
It takes a little longer today. The dogs noticed what was up in less than a minute and the majority scattered, determined to steer clear of the pool entirely. Hah. We manage, however, dunking one after the other, until most of them are soaking wet.
There are only six more to go when the chemical stuff starts to sting my skin, so I head on out of the pool and leave the last few dogs to middle sister and big brother.
After hosing down every piece of skin that was exposed, I’m about to start getting ready to go for our planned run in the woods, when it becomes clear that little brother would really much rather build on the walls again today. Considering that he has been feeling poorly about Sita’s death and that the last batch of sand really needs to be used, we build instead…or, more accurately; too.
While we’re waiting for the first batch of cement to be mixed, we debate the options for a new dog that could replace Sita, but what with our funds being too low to even vaccinate the pack, we finally decide that we should at least wait until we’ve saved up enough to deal with that particular aspect.
It is not an easy decision to make, postponing getting a new pack member, but with today’s economy and all its effects, it really is the only options. We’ll just have to endure the sense of loss for the time being.
The debate stops when the cement is ready and we can start working.
Sitabah (weimaraner) is watching me balefully all evening, actually. She wasn’t at all appreciative of the dunking she received during the washing session, but I bear it, (rather gladly) since she is staying at a yard’s distance at the very least while I haul rocks to add to my part of the wall.
Around seven thirty PM, the last bit of cement has been worked into the walls, and at least three layers have been added to a variety of sections where everyone is working separately.
Though dusk is rapidly approaching, we are determined to go for our jog. We wash up, change into sweats and tear off in the truck to head for our usual spot in the woods.
It doesn’t go bad at all; we manage at least three miles in decent time and less walking than the last time. (Yes, we actually checked by driving the car the same route afterwards, hah.)
Once home, it’s already getting dark and we eat spaghetti with vegetable sauce for dinner, made by little sister during our absence. It is a meal that is really appreciated after physical exercise, I’ve found. Nothing like devouring carbs to keep the energy levels up.
During dinner, we watch (sorta, anyway, since it’s playing anyway) this rather annoying show called “The Listener”. I don’t know what the creators were thinking when they made it, but there’s something seriously wrong with the plot and characters. Not to mention that the hero of the show bugs the heck out of me.
Afterwards, the TV goes off…there really isn’t anything interesting on…and big brother and I resume the read/edit, so we’ll be able to send another chapter to the proofreader. It doesn’t go as well as I had hoped, at first. We’re both pretty tired. But in the end, we do manage to go through a page or two, content that the changes made during the rewrite are good.
Then comes the usual trip up to my cabin, followed by the oh-so-familiar evening rituals before the night comes to an end. I could do with some shuteye about now that’s a fact.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Sad, sad day. :-(
Song of the day: “Unwritten” by Natasha Beddingfield.
Still don’t know why but that one kept spinning through my head since I woke up.
There was an hour or so during with Destiny’s Child’s “Bootylicious” tried to sneak in but luckily, I managed to smother that one. Aaargh.
The day starts out well enough. The sun is shining, the temperatures are pleasantly warm, and when I get up, I can actually keep my eyes open while I go through the morning rituals such as making the bed, cleaning up and getting dressed.
Once I’ve gathered my things and chase the dogs out of the cabin, I head on down to the house, (nothing different, just as usual) where big brother’s pack is already making a racket.
We start on the edit right after breakfast, coffee poured, first morning cigarette burning cheerfully, and are one sentence into the book when the first error announces itself.
It’s nothing new, really, but kind of frustrating when you’re trying to make your way through the book at a snail’s pace.
I think that, on a total, there is perhaps twenty percent of the original script left unchanged. There are moments when that rather daunting percentage makes me wonder if I really wrote that badly, but then I remind myself that I’m actually doing the rewrite too, so who gives a crap?
Such a waste of time to feel sorry for the person I was all those years back when I slaving over writing the original story. I do hope that I won’t feel the same for my now-self in a couple of years too. Hah.
But anyways, we manage almost four pages today, still the fight scene, though it is rapidly drawing to an end with the arrival of a chopper that is supposed to carry them to safety…before the REAL mess starts. I can hardly wait. Action scenes, though tricky, are the most exiting one to do after all.
(Everything’s still fine at this point.)
We’re just about ready to put our computer away to head on out and start building when the bad news arrives.
Sita (13 year old black Cocker Spaniel) has been feeling poorly since yesterday, and seeing as it is the weekend, with Sunday just one day away, (always the weekends. It is one of the reason why I hate weekends, I’m guessing) little brother and I head on out to the vet for an emergency check up.
Poor blind Sita. Over the years, she has battled skin cancer that took several patches from her skin, glandular cancer that demanded a hysterectomy, cataract that cost her both her eyes and Leishmania, which ate at her kidneys…the cure as much as the disease. Today, it seems she’s had enough.
After a body check (she has a bad fever) and a sonogram, shows that her kidneys are enlarged and a bloated stomach hint at more cancer. After at least an hour of discussion about her chances, it is decided that for her age and all the health issues that already trouble her, any form of treatment really is no longer viable.
I leave the real decision to little brother, since he is most attached to the dog that we got our first year in Spain (3 months after Knight I the summer of 1997).
Though always somewhat stoic, tears are already running down his cheeks when he makes that dreaded choice, rather than opt for more tests on a dog that relies solely on smell to get around. She wouldn’t understand a long stay at a strange place. She cannot hear, cannot see, and many days…heck, even hours…would be pure hell for her. Besides, the end result would likely have been the same, or so the vet admitted.
I manage to hold back the tears right up until they bring out the overdose anesthetic needle, and the lethal injection that follows.
Then that awful feeling starts again: That sense of knowing that we’ve made a decision that is irreversible.
I hate that feeling, especially since in a way it is better than letting fate’s fickle hand make all the decisions, and then hits you in the face at random when you least expect it. She is old, sick and things could only have gotten worse…my head knows that. But still, it is a massive mountain to climb every time this happens with one of our pack members.
Lying in little brother’s arms, Sita passes on around six thirty in the afternoon. She goes peacefully with the anesthetic overdose (the lethal injection wasn’t even necessary, just standard procedure) and is carefully placed in a box so we can take her home for a proper burial.
It’s always horrible to see the remains of a beloved pet that you watched grow up from pup…or got at a later age, for that matter. The once so familiar little body, limp and lifeless. The image always sticks in my brain for the longest time, blocking out a lot of the good memories until the mourning process passes. It can take weeks or months, but at some point they do return, I’m glad to say.
On our way back, both little brother and I are battling tears, trying to think of a spot where we can bury her without needing to chop out a huge chunk of rock. This is no easy feat when you life on top of a mountain.
We arrive home to dreary faces and restless dogs, who always seem to sense when something like this has happened. We debate for a bit whether or not we’re going to build on the walls today…it’s already past seven when we finally arrive home. We really want to do SOMETHING, rather than just sitting in the house feeling miserable over loosing on of the first members of our pack.
In the end, we realize that for actual building it really is too late, so instead we pick up our shovels and pickaxes, and start shoveling dirt up the wall. There is still a lot of empty space to fill behind the piled rocks, so at least we’ll be able to set our minds to hard labor rather than unbalance emotions that want to wreak havoc.
Figuring that the wall will be a beautiful memorial for Sita, we decide to burry her in the small terrace that separates the two walls. The ground will be soft enough to dig into at the very least, and little brother sets to it with zeal, while we continue to throw more dirt upwards off to his left.
There is a moment of shared silence as we watch Sita go in, and with little brother sobbing quietly, and the rest of us joining in, she is returned to the earth (as they so beautifully describe it on occasion).
Using a beautiful tree trunk that we once found on the beach…later we realized that we actually found it on the day we found Sita…we cover up her grave along with heavy rocks. With tender care little brother creates a rather befitting decoration on the site.
Rather than wallow on the emotions that threatens to overcome, we attack the ground some more and finish the evening with half a ton of dirt lying one level higher than it used to. Soaking in perspiration and sore from the heavy task (and happy about it, since exhaustion numbs the mind beautifully) we head inside to have a sober dinner of yesterday’s leftovers.
First, I head to the shower, clean clothes in hand and wash away the grime. Next, I quickly deal with the laundry, actually disappointed that there isn’t more of it that will allow me to keep distracted just a bit longer.
Finally, I sit down to have dinner (it tastes remarkably bland, which is ridiculous considering it’s made with sambal) and try to follow an episode of “The Closer”. Now, just hours later, I can’t even remember what it was about.
Big brother and I manage another short edit, as is our habit in the evenings, but we give up on the endeavor after making today’s quota of exactly four pages.
I’m actually relieved when it’s time to head up to my cabin.
Tomorrow’s another day. Can’t get much worse than this one.
Still don’t know why but that one kept spinning through my head since I woke up.
There was an hour or so during with Destiny’s Child’s “Bootylicious” tried to sneak in but luckily, I managed to smother that one. Aaargh.
The day starts out well enough. The sun is shining, the temperatures are pleasantly warm, and when I get up, I can actually keep my eyes open while I go through the morning rituals such as making the bed, cleaning up and getting dressed.
Once I’ve gathered my things and chase the dogs out of the cabin, I head on down to the house, (nothing different, just as usual) where big brother’s pack is already making a racket.
We start on the edit right after breakfast, coffee poured, first morning cigarette burning cheerfully, and are one sentence into the book when the first error announces itself.
It’s nothing new, really, but kind of frustrating when you’re trying to make your way through the book at a snail’s pace.
I think that, on a total, there is perhaps twenty percent of the original script left unchanged. There are moments when that rather daunting percentage makes me wonder if I really wrote that badly, but then I remind myself that I’m actually doing the rewrite too, so who gives a crap?
Such a waste of time to feel sorry for the person I was all those years back when I slaving over writing the original story. I do hope that I won’t feel the same for my now-self in a couple of years too. Hah.
But anyways, we manage almost four pages today, still the fight scene, though it is rapidly drawing to an end with the arrival of a chopper that is supposed to carry them to safety…before the REAL mess starts. I can hardly wait. Action scenes, though tricky, are the most exiting one to do after all.
(Everything’s still fine at this point.)
We’re just about ready to put our computer away to head on out and start building when the bad news arrives.
Sita (13 year old black Cocker Spaniel) has been feeling poorly since yesterday, and seeing as it is the weekend, with Sunday just one day away, (always the weekends. It is one of the reason why I hate weekends, I’m guessing) little brother and I head on out to the vet for an emergency check up.
Poor blind Sita. Over the years, she has battled skin cancer that took several patches from her skin, glandular cancer that demanded a hysterectomy, cataract that cost her both her eyes and Leishmania, which ate at her kidneys…the cure as much as the disease. Today, it seems she’s had enough.
After a body check (she has a bad fever) and a sonogram, shows that her kidneys are enlarged and a bloated stomach hint at more cancer. After at least an hour of discussion about her chances, it is decided that for her age and all the health issues that already trouble her, any form of treatment really is no longer viable.
I leave the real decision to little brother, since he is most attached to the dog that we got our first year in Spain (3 months after Knight I the summer of 1997).
Though always somewhat stoic, tears are already running down his cheeks when he makes that dreaded choice, rather than opt for more tests on a dog that relies solely on smell to get around. She wouldn’t understand a long stay at a strange place. She cannot hear, cannot see, and many days…heck, even hours…would be pure hell for her. Besides, the end result would likely have been the same, or so the vet admitted.
I manage to hold back the tears right up until they bring out the overdose anesthetic needle, and the lethal injection that follows.
Then that awful feeling starts again: That sense of knowing that we’ve made a decision that is irreversible.
I hate that feeling, especially since in a way it is better than letting fate’s fickle hand make all the decisions, and then hits you in the face at random when you least expect it. She is old, sick and things could only have gotten worse…my head knows that. But still, it is a massive mountain to climb every time this happens with one of our pack members.
Lying in little brother’s arms, Sita passes on around six thirty in the afternoon. She goes peacefully with the anesthetic overdose (the lethal injection wasn’t even necessary, just standard procedure) and is carefully placed in a box so we can take her home for a proper burial.
It’s always horrible to see the remains of a beloved pet that you watched grow up from pup…or got at a later age, for that matter. The once so familiar little body, limp and lifeless. The image always sticks in my brain for the longest time, blocking out a lot of the good memories until the mourning process passes. It can take weeks or months, but at some point they do return, I’m glad to say.
On our way back, both little brother and I are battling tears, trying to think of a spot where we can bury her without needing to chop out a huge chunk of rock. This is no easy feat when you life on top of a mountain.
We arrive home to dreary faces and restless dogs, who always seem to sense when something like this has happened. We debate for a bit whether or not we’re going to build on the walls today…it’s already past seven when we finally arrive home. We really want to do SOMETHING, rather than just sitting in the house feeling miserable over loosing on of the first members of our pack.
In the end, we realize that for actual building it really is too late, so instead we pick up our shovels and pickaxes, and start shoveling dirt up the wall. There is still a lot of empty space to fill behind the piled rocks, so at least we’ll be able to set our minds to hard labor rather than unbalance emotions that want to wreak havoc.
Figuring that the wall will be a beautiful memorial for Sita, we decide to burry her in the small terrace that separates the two walls. The ground will be soft enough to dig into at the very least, and little brother sets to it with zeal, while we continue to throw more dirt upwards off to his left.
There is a moment of shared silence as we watch Sita go in, and with little brother sobbing quietly, and the rest of us joining in, she is returned to the earth (as they so beautifully describe it on occasion).
Using a beautiful tree trunk that we once found on the beach…later we realized that we actually found it on the day we found Sita…we cover up her grave along with heavy rocks. With tender care little brother creates a rather befitting decoration on the site.
Rather than wallow on the emotions that threatens to overcome, we attack the ground some more and finish the evening with half a ton of dirt lying one level higher than it used to. Soaking in perspiration and sore from the heavy task (and happy about it, since exhaustion numbs the mind beautifully) we head inside to have a sober dinner of yesterday’s leftovers.
First, I head to the shower, clean clothes in hand and wash away the grime. Next, I quickly deal with the laundry, actually disappointed that there isn’t more of it that will allow me to keep distracted just a bit longer.
Finally, I sit down to have dinner (it tastes remarkably bland, which is ridiculous considering it’s made with sambal) and try to follow an episode of “The Closer”. Now, just hours later, I can’t even remember what it was about.
Big brother and I manage another short edit, as is our habit in the evenings, but we give up on the endeavor after making today’s quota of exactly four pages.
I’m actually relieved when it’s time to head up to my cabin.
Tomorrow’s another day. Can’t get much worse than this one.
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