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Thursday, February 17, 2005

Sun Day

It hasn't rained for over 36 hours. Half the doors in the house have swelled up - the one above the courtyard leading to Granny and Beloved's bedroom can't be shut at all. The cushions from the sitting-room are almost dried out but still haven't been replaced. The mysterious smell -alway an effect of too much rain on the septic tank - emanating from the shower in the white bedroom downstairs has almost (almost) been banished. Matters chez Granny and Beloved are settling down again. They ate lunch in the sun today. Are ignoring the bank of black cloud appearing on the horizon this moment.

Dogs; the lady with the big and little dogs works down at the airport all day on Thursdays so Granny is in charge of letting them out for the obvious purpose. She has noticed an odd phenomenon; the very big dog - male - crouches to pee like a bitch. The very small dog - female - cocks a leg to pee like a dog. Did she always, Granny wonders. Or is it only since her male companion appeared that she feels a need to compensate? The big dog is not only tall but weighty. If he cocked a leg he'd almost certainly topple over.

The black cloud one way, sun the other is turning the green of the land below Granny's window livid. The prickly pears are edged with black shadows. Very dramatic.

Odd how one can live in several places at once. Granny's working on a book set in Birmingham and lives there half the day in her head. She is reading one book set in Barcelona, another in California and disappears those ways too. Beloved says it doesn't work like that for him, he's always just where he's standing.

Local horticulture goes on. Down the driveway the widow in black who lives in the house there sorted potatoes all afternoon that she'd spend most of the morning digging up. "Buenas papas?" inquires Granny. ''Unas malas," says the woman. "Lastima" (pity) says Granny. This is communication of sorts.

Five or six people are coming here for a study of local natural history in three weeks time. We've got a lot of work ahead,' urges Beloved. Granny groans. She rarely welcomes the thought of company, let alone the work involved, though she can enjoy it in reality - (as long as they don't take pictures of her - they make her look too old. Never mind says Beloved.) She is perverse like that.

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