This is the real estate office just up the hill from our flat. It's always the brightest-lit place in a little row of shops that includes a small grocery (once a newsagent) and a cleaning supply store (once a mysterious place of uncertain purpose called The White Room). When I look out the dining room window at night, the estate agent's office is there, about half a block away, shining like a blue beacon. It's comforting.
I got out and took a walk yesterday morning. My original purpose was to get bread, because Dave forgot it when he ordered groceries. But I'd spent the whole morning indoors, partly reading a new book called "All the Colours of the Dark" by Chris Whitaker, and I felt the need to get some fresh air. I extended my route to the store by roaming up to the cemetery and then northward through Child's Hill Park and back home -- a little more than an hour of walking.
I got out and took a walk yesterday morning. My original purpose was to get bread, because Dave forgot it when he ordered groceries. But I'd spent the whole morning indoors, partly reading a new book called "All the Colours of the Dark" by Chris Whitaker, and I felt the need to get some fresh air. I extended my route to the store by roaming up to the cemetery and then northward through Child's Hill Park and back home -- a little more than an hour of walking.
I found this intriguingly decorated car along the way. I'd love to see it lit up. Is the asymmetrical application of the wrapping paper intentional?
And then there was this weirdness:
Like all my walking routes, this one made me miss Olga, who often accompanied me through the same streets in her younger years. I haven't talked much about Olga on the ol' blog recently, but I feel her absence every day. It's hard to believe it's been five months already, and I still question her last days and whether I could have done anything differently. I'm not sure those doubts will ever go away.
Dave and I are still talking about getting another dog, but now that we're planning our Italy trip for next summer, we may wait until after that. I'm still in a mourning stage, I think. I don't want another dog, I want my old one back! Maybe that's a sign that it's still too early.
I was walking Olga last January on the high street when I found that little light-up star, shown above in our dining room window, lying on the pavement. One of the charity shops had thrown it out, I think -- probably a bit of Christmas decor that never sold. It still worked, so I brought it home and put it on our mantel, and this season I've put it in the window and turned it on. It's quite a sophisticated little thing -- it even has a timer so that it shines only when it's dark out. It's probably supposed to make me think of Baby Jesus, but instead it makes me think of Olga.
Olga ♥
ReplyDeleteIt's been more than five years since my dog, who was surprisingly similar to Olga, died and I still dream about her at night. The longing is probably eternal.
ReplyDeleteNice to have a reminder of a good friend
ReplyDeleteEven though my cat Mimi, who I've raised from when she was 12 years old, has been gone for over 20 years, I often think of her - not every day anymore, but still often enough, and I had one more cat after her; she was just so special to me, "my cat-baby".
ReplyDeleteEveryone who has ever loved a pet knows what you mean, Steve. And I agree that you have probably not yet reached the stage when you'll be ready for another dog - you'll know it when that time comes.
Your little star story made me well up.
The window decoration of the estate agent's is really beautiful!
The teminders never stop. The day after pur Mr T died a butterfly type I'd never seen in our garden before alighted on his vacant bed. Two days ago and half a planet away a Monarch butterfly (extremely rare in these parts) flitted through my garden. Easy to believe Mr T was just checking up on our progress.
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