my world this week

The owner of the sixth gardening concern  (see annalog/decline and endeavour) arrived in response my telephone call for an appointment he made 45 minutes late,

talked a lot and seemed to think he was doing me a favour.  I forbore to tell him money is not paid for favours.

Old friends had the rerun of a crisis they could both do without but neither seems able to avoid.  I find bright people who can’t focus their intelligence on their own difficulties and how these impact on their nearest and dearest disturbing.  It’s as if the light only travels one way.

For the first time in many years, I am reading books less at a time.  Nothing can make me read slowly, I zap through things, but I know that if I am to understand what I am reading, I must read less and allow for percolation.  It’s been oddly pleasurable, like making a quarter of sweets last longer

when you were a kid.

One of the few things my son asked of me was that I lock the front door and it was locked at 9.20 last night when somebody banged on it (I have no bell).  “Who is it ?” I asked and the voice said “Me.”  Fortunately I recognised “me”, she lives round the corner and owns the first female Rhodesian Ridgeback

I ever met, a dog of truly magnificent indifference to all except her own affairs. 

I opened the door and my neighbour said” I had to come and tell you – my sister has dropped the action, I’ve got the house.”   And flung her arms round me.  I embraced her, remarking as I did, that it is the first time in two years I have seen colour in her face.  And we continued enthusing, jumping up and down on the step – she wouldn’t come in – and suddenly she said “What is your name ?”  And I told her and asked hers (again) because it really isn’t about that. 

a rose by any other name would smell as sweet

It’s about somebody being well disposed to you – just someone  you see at the bus stop, or out with dog, or wave to from the car. 

When her father died – I don’t know all the back story –  his will left her very nearly everything, principal among which was a house with a garden, a little further out.  Her sister took action to fight the will.  Death and money are often closely related.  

Encouraged by her sensible and supportive solicitor, she commenced to clean up the house.  Until she showed me the pictures on her phone last night, I had no idea what this involved.  Her father was a hoarder. 

There have been various ups and downs and she has continued working on the bathroom and the kitchen.  I have seen her looking really dragged down by it all, as you would be.  She has kept going, her home, her job, her husband and family, the daughter still at home and studying.

“You’re going to move in ?”   She nodded.  “Don’t go without giving me an address “ I said “even if I only send you a Christmas card.”

“I’m not going anywhere without telling you” she said. “That’s why I asked your name.  People come into your life for a reason, you’ve got the same name as my dad’s mum, you looked out for me.  That’s why I had to come and tell you, I knew you’d understand.”  And we embraced each other again.   “I’ve got to go home” she said “I’ve got dinner to make.  I’ll see you, I’m not going anywhere yet.”   Do you know, she even smelt different ?  She smelt of hope.

So Carly came to tell me about her dad’s house and Mrs. Robin returned to the nest in the jug hanging on the garden wall.  Yes, it’s very small stuff  but it lifts the heart and make you smile and there’s nothing better.    There’s an old song that says “little things mean a lot.”

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