Monday 14th March 2022 – It Rained Today

My two little old ladies after their impromptu shower

I am sitting writing at the Läckö table that I found out by the bins a couple of weeks ago. It amazes me the amount of stuff that people throw out on a regular basis. It’s only a little bit broken and I have tied the legs together with cable ties. A dog is eyeing me from her vantage point on the sofa—Candy likes to know where I am at all times. She is snuggled into a blanket and is looking a bit curlier than usual after a natural shower this morning. Our walk was a quick one—there was not the same desire to stop and sniff—Candy and Kerry don’t like getting wet any more than I do.

I reorganised my living room today, a bit of a spring clean, I guess. A rainy day is a good day for a tidy-up. For the past four weeks, I have lived with bits of wood, boxes of screws, and one or two power tools littering my living room. I was finishing off my kitchen counters but stalled with just one tiny corner left to do—I can be so flaky—it will probably never get finished and now that the tools have been stowed it means it will be even more of an effort to get my carpenter mojo going again. On the other hand, it makes the living room a far nicer space and I gave the carpet a sweep too.

We really needed rain. We have had none to mention throughout the winter. A week or so ago, a beautiful day, I met Gonzalo in the park. He was grumbling about the sunny day but visibly lit up when he informed me that the reservoirs are at 15%. Bad news is always more interesting than good news and I was suitably shocked.  Gonzalo is one of the dog owners I meet in the park. He hates hot weather and gets depressed in the summertime, but brightens when the weather is cool, or like today, wet. I think he enjoys being contrary. He has an adorable dog of an indiscriminate breed who patrols the park off-lead. Lijo is a small dog with an upright trot and ears like a rabbit. He constantly scans his demesne for other dogs, some he likes and some he skirts around. My girls always get a good sniff, and they sniff back in turn.

The early spring this year is intoxicating. After two years of restrictions, people are taking to the streets, and it makes me happy to see the cafés and bars full again. The street-orange trees have been stripped of their fruit to make way for the blossom. It has its own special name—azahar—and the smell is an intoxicating blend of citrus, spice, and cleanliness. This year the fragrance fills the air the way it should. The last two years I missed it because of covid and facemasks, now I can breathe it in as I pass.

It always seems a shame to strip the fruit, but on the other hand when it starts to fall it can be alarming for a small dog having a contemplative sniff around the base of a tree. Oranges can make you jump out of your skin when they land on car bonnets—they make a very loud noise. In addition, they are a pure temptation to young kids and big kids, especially in the middle of the night, a bit like fruity snowballs. I hear them sometimes as I lie in bed, the rip of leaves and then the dull thud of fruit as it strikes its target, a person or a wall, the giggling, and then the running feet. Kids will be kids but the spattered remains on the sidewalk are very sticky.

Two mornings ago, I bumped into my neighbour, Laura, and in her hand, she had a bouquet of orange twigs with leaves and blossom that she had plucked on her morning walk. She gave me a sprig—I have put it in a little glass of water beside my tulips and my enormous ornamental buttercup. I was convinced that the tulips were going to be white and scoffed at the label, which said pink, but they are distinctly pink now and getting pinker all the time. The ranunculus is a showstopper. I thought it was a peony or a camellia or something super-frilly anyway when I saw it in the flower shop, I couldn’t resist and bought two—one is a deep magenta pink which I have shoehorned in between some pots on the upstairs patio and the other is white with pink tips to the petals. It sets off my white/pink tulip to perfection and the tiny bouquet of azahar scents the house with spring.

Last week wasn’t a bad week, but not a great week either. The week before I went five days before I really, really, really wanted a drink. I have been trying to school myself on how the feeling grows. The first couple of days are easy, I don’t even think about a drink and then a twinge grows into a little yearning which develops into full bloated lust and I go for it. I had a drink every day, but not too much and I managed to keep writing and working through it as well, so that was good at least.

My exercise regime is still going well, it is now a month and a half, and I feel my body getting stronger all the time. Carrying the dogs up to bed at night and down again in the morning, is a breeze—I am a human elevator.

While I am enjoying our warming spring, I can’t help thinking about the spring that is not coming to Ukraine. The photos and footage show images of mud and destruction. The trees in the towns are still dormant and broken by bombs. Most will already be bombed to extinction before they have a chance to unfurl their leaves, let alone their blossom. I nuzzle a rain-washed dog and tell her that I love her.