Something to yaay about
It’s not raining.
Don’t get excited, however, it’s going to start again any minute. In fact I can hear the wind getting up out there now. (The cottage is at the top of this little hill, so while there’s lots of houses around us, if there’s anything interesting in a swathing sort of way going on out there, my immediate neighbours and I know about it.)
But speaking of things not to yaay about, let’s start at 4 a.m. I was asleep. I had been asleep for hours.* I was sleeping the sleep of the justly weary and the ME-slugged, and I wasn’t moving for anything. Wrong. At approximately 4:11 am the most awful racket began. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP etc.
You don’t come awake in situations like this either happy or sane. I shot out of bed trying to remember where the air raid shelter is.** It was the wrong kind of noise, but any neighbourhood-wide alarm at 4 am has to mean the Borg have landed, doesn’t it? And it went on and on. And on and on and on and on. It frequently amazes me the things hellhounds do not react to: I wanted to howl and carry on, but there were only faint rustlings from the dog crate. I had, by this time, found my glasses and a dressing-gown and put them on. At least I’d been a wuss and left the windows closed when I went to bed: I don’t find fighting the ancient latch amusing when the wind is trying to take it off, and the rain is seizing the opportunity to ruin the varnish on the four-poster. But I think I might have done myself damage if this thing, whatever it was, had gone off through an open window. When I then opened the window to lean out and look around–if it was a car alarm, for example, which was my best guess after the Borg (although it didn’t sound like a car alarm either) the car in question should be flashing its lights and dancing a tango, aside from the dark foiled figures scuttling away from it–but the noise was so appalling with the window open that I jumped back and slammed*** the window shut again. BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEBEEPBEEP. Aaaaaugh.
At this point I tottered into my office, pulled out a phone book,† and started trying to find the non-emergency police number. I mean, I’m not bleeding, it’s not an emergency, although it may become one when I Can’t Take It Any More, slam a 17th-century†† window to provide myself with daggers of broken glass, and go looking for a perp.††† Okay you Borg! Come out of your spaceship and face me like–like evil aliens!
But British phone books were designed by evil aliens. I’ve lived in this country getting on for twenty years and the phone books still defeat me, especially at 4 am. And they may have discontinued the non-emergency number anyway, they’ve been threatening to, in typical governmental oh my god it works we can’t have that policy. So I am now standing there dithering, at 4 am, useless phone book in my hands, nerving myself to ring the emergency number and admit I’m not bleeding, I’m only being driven mad. And of course there’s always the possibility that I’m being a good citizen and reporting a burglary. I just don’t happen to know where it is or anything.
. . . When the noise stops. Oh joy oh rapture.
What’s more it stays stopped.
I go back to bed. My blood pressure stands down from red alert. My brain, however, still wants someone to strangle, preferably by making him‡ eat his malfunctioning siren.‡‡ I won’t say that I lay stridently awake for the next four hours but I didn’t get the best sleep I’ve ever had, and I was not in a good mood when I dragged myself out of bed the next time–at a rather slower velocity–to discover that it was raining still/again. Today was supposed to be our nice day‡‡‡ before reality sets in again tomorrow (with a sploosh)! And my little windowsill weather predictor was gaily flashing its digital sun at me! And the hellhounds were teeming, as hellhounds will do in the morning before their walk! So, it wasn’t raining very hard, so we went for our walk anyway. The car was in the garage today, having its front end reattached§–if we didn’t drown first we’d walk two villages over to pick it up this afternoon, between piano lesson and bells–so we had our walk around town.
And here, finally, is our yaay moment. We came back along the river. I almost indulged myself in a rant about this yesterday: When is the effing city council going to do something about our riverside path, which everybody and his aunt and his six aggressive off-lead dogs and his double-wide pram use, and which becomes impassable as soon as more than ten drops of rain fall in the same hour. Maybe twelve drops. But it’s been mostly impassable for weeks and there’s a stretch just before the river turns into a lake for a while where it’s practising for the widening-out part and simply extends over the path about ankle deep.§§ Mostly it’s just mud, and the mud is spreading, as mud will do.
Well, they have. Fixed it. There’s about a Borg mothership’s worth of dirt, gravel and rock stamped into the worst of the mud–and it’s not enough, but it’s an enormous improvement, and the remaining mire can be leaped over even by creaky middle-aged women. Having a path to walk on was so thrilling an event it almost made up for the rain that wasn’t supposed to be falling, but was.
So, yaay.
And then the rain stopped. And we had a beautiful walk over to pick the car up. Which should now drive for a while, instead of shamble and shudder, till I run it through a few more hills.
More yaay.
And now I’m going to catch up on my sleep. I hope. Which would be the yaayest of all.
* * *
* This may be a slight exaggeration.
** I read too many novels. No, I lived five years in Japan in the early 60s, when Russia was going to drop bombs on Japan in a kind of trial run before it moved on to world domination. I kid you not. We had air-raid drills regularly at school. The shelters in Tokyo were dead boring but the ones in Yokosuka, where we lived first, were caves dug out of these astonishing abrupt hills which sat on the landscape like–ahem!–a bombe on a plate, and they were way cool.
*** No no no, I did not slam–one does not slam windows in a 17th century cottage–I daresay the windows are a little younger than the cottage, but I bet they remember the Titanic.
† Just by the way, Third House still does not have a phone. I have to ring the (*&^$£”!!! phone company again and remind them they’re still trying to find their end of the phone line that leads to the jack in the sitting room.
†† Or early twentieth century
††† Nah. I’d only cut myself.
‡ Or her. But I favour him. It was a himmy sort of noise.
‡‡ Possibly the weirdest thing about the whole affair is that I didn’t see anybody else’s house lights popping on. What does everyone else in the neighbourhood know that I don’t know? Or maybe they’re androids and they turn themselves off at night. Or maybe they’re all just very heavy sleepers.
‡‡‡ It would be a Friday, when I have a piano lesson and sacred home tower bell practise, and don’t have time to pot on the seven hundred million more little green things that have turned up in the post in the last two days. Yesterday I came back from somewhere or other–dripping–and found six little cardboard boxes of tiny plug plants sitting in front of my door. And one box of books. On the bottom. In a puddle. I love the Royal Mail.
§ I have something of a gift for hitting bad ground at the wrong angle of bounce. And a VW Golf is not a Land Rover.
§§ Chaos stands at the edge, or possibly I mean the shore, looking miserable. He’s still working on his walking on water trick, but he’s not quite there yet. He’s remarkably good at lifting all four feet off the ground at once but he hasn’t figured out the propulsion part. Maybe if I rearranged his lead a little and pulled he could water ski. Darkness just sighs heavily and wades.
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Any chance the beeping came from a surge protector/battery backup for something? That computer-guy installed to be “helpful”? Those make the most awful beeping.
Oh, gods, yes, I had my surge protector go off once. No, this was air-raid siren loud. Truly. Neighbourhood-shattering loud.
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Urgh urgh. What a crazy morning. Crossing my fingers that you get plenty of sleep tonight.
*****Possibly the weirdest thing about the whole affair is that I didn’t see anybody else’s house lights popping on. What does everyone else in the neighbourhood know that I don’t know? Or maybe they’re androids and they turn themselves off at night. Or maybe they’re all just very heavy sleepers.*****
Earplugs. Our Cleaning Person tends to come by at an hour at which I am not yet awake and is not at all tactful about being quiet. Last time I happened to notice that I had left on the nightstand a pair of earplugs that I’d brought home from Tucson. I stuck them in and promptly fell into the deepest, most relaxed and restful sleep I’d had in a long time. There’s something about earplugs — a “you can’t get me” feeling about the rest of the world trying to disturb you. Not that I’d wear them on a regular basis, mind you — there are just too many things in the night that one NEEDS to hear, like burglars and sick dogs — but perhaps there are a number of light sleepers in your neighborhood who have gone that route. I have a friend who does.
Judith
Yes, that’s the pillow-over-my-head approach. It shuts out the world psychologically somehow, while I still hear howling dogs through it.
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If I heard a screeching alarm at 4:00 a.m., it would most likely come from my blessed weather radio, providing info about possible or probable tornadoes. We live far enough out of town not to hear their sirens, so the weather radios are a must as far as I’m concerned–I didn’t grow up in the Midwest and am not in the least blase about “severe weather.” I’m glad your evil noise was not the precursor to some hideous event. And yes, dogs can be weird about noises: mine NEVER react to the weather siren, no matter how loud and close, but will go on for five minutes over a sqealing school bus. Go figure.
I would post pictures of dogs if I knew how! Blogmom, help! We were fortunate today and dodged the downpours; A.B. showed very well but it wasn’t our day. So–another day, another dog show . . . I have to say that the Danes would entirely agree with Chaos about wading. Mud is OK (not my opinion, theirs), but not, God forbid, water.
But on the bright side, there are daffodils and tulips here (SE Wisconsin), so spring is happening, however soggily and slowly.
Do you use flickr? You can just post addresses and we’ll all troop after you. :)
I’m hopelessly confused about severe weather because of moving around so much in my life. But I get a little skittish here when the water on the roads gets high enough you have to drive like you’re fording a river.
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I’m not Blogmom, but I can tell you how to post pictures!
Do you have the photos on the computer? Assuming that’s a yes, you can get a Flickr account for free. (www.flickr.com), or Photobucket or whatever you like. I like Flickr because it’s easy peasy. You upload your picture to Flickr (they will give you step by step instructions!) and then when you have that photo’s page, you can just copy and paste the address in the top bar. Like so!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/69585952@N00/2460380345/
Easy peasy!
Let’s see those dogs! :D
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Let’s see those dogs! :D
YESSSSSSS. :)
(**Love** Austin yawning. Aren’t animals great? I love the slinkiness of your ferrets. :))
Well done on Alpha Bitch showing well, I always go home happy when my dogs have tried their socks off, and another judge will have a different opinion :)
I’m keeping fingers crossed for this mating now, so please tell us when you know if little dane puppies are on the horizon. Hoping for you, paws crossed.
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yes. I second this. Candles lit! :)
How unutterably, dreadfully, horribly awful! Did you find out what the sound was? And it is surely strange what some people can sleep through…
What lovely pictures! The Hellhounds are adorable – looking, possibly falsely, soulful. (I know cats better, but that look I would interpret as either planning mischief or enjoying the thought of some prior misdeeds – in a cat of course it might mean nothing more sinister than “I am adorable – and I know it”.)
And I have yet to see a hellhag anywhere – I’ve seen the hellgoddess. (You have a really nice, neat figure – very graceful.)
LRK
I have no idea what the sound was!! I’m still planning to corner one of my neighbours and see if anyone else has any ideas.
No, actually, the hellhounds lie around in ‘I know I’m adorable’ postures too. When they’re up to evil they look sneaky and sheepish. Not catlike at all.
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I also have something to yay about–with the help of your books (well, as many of them as this library had–my copies are in boxes in my parents’ attic at present), I have survived my professors’ evil schemes and am officially gradumacated. Or so they tell me.
Thanks for helping to keep me alive. And sane. Mostly. =)
CONGRATULATIONS!!!! What did you graduate in? (You’re not the incipient lawyer, are you?)
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English literature… =)
Your last footnote just gave me such a clear image of Chaos, high strung, diva-like going up to the water and dancing back, time and again, looking over his shoulder at you, slightly hysterical, “You want me to deal with this? How do I deal with this?” while Darkness, turns looks at you “Again?”, sighs resignedly and wades through. I am falling more and more in love with Darkness as time goes on.
They’re both darlings but I do sometimes feel that Darkness’ virtues are overlooked for Chaos’ dazzle. :)
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I feel the same way about Darkness. Chaos is beautiful, but Darkness seems so steady and mannered. If I had a dog, I’d want him to behave like that. He’s such a *good* boy.
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Well, all things are relative! Darkness is steady only in comparison to Chaos!!!!
Reporting back as requested! (Can’t do so on the original entry any more – “bell ringing woman, I”).
A lovely tower and a delightful bunch of ringers, who were very welcoming. They actually ring from the porch – probably just as well because access to the chamber below the belfry requires climbing over the handrail of the steep narrow stair up the tower which really leads (I think) to the organ. From that chamber it’s a precarious climb up a steep tiny stairway (others called it a ladder but it was more stair than ladder!) to the bell chamber.
The bells were cast in 1988 and all the timber they’re mounted on looks virtually new. The main supports are steel I-beams.
We’ve been let off practise night on Tuesday on account of my husband getting his gall bladder out that day, but we will go along once he’s fit. In the meantime we have some homework to do. :+>
I think we’re officially beginner ringers now. :+>
And a remark about the photo “bell ringing woman I” – gee you’re tall! I can see from where you grip the sally.
Audrey
YAAAAY! :)
And a remark about the photo “bell ringing woman I” – gee you’re tall! I can see from where you grip the sally.
***No, no! The length of ropes and the height of sallies VARIES! I’m only 5’8″–we’ve got at least two 6’2″ women on this blog (I hate them both, but I’m just too nice a person to block them from posting)–but it is true I have **unnaturally** long arms.
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“it is true I have **unnaturally** long arms.”
But did you have those long arms before you started dangling at frequent intervals from the lower end of a bell rope…? :)
Yes. I’ve had them since I was young enough to be TRAUMATISED by the fact that my sleeves never reached my wrists. Bell ringing has merely finally made them a VIRTUE. :)
This is the address to some rose covered converse. I thought you might be interested, and I have an incurable desire to shop for other folks. Please don’t be mad.
http://cgi.ebay.com/CONVERSE-All-Star-PINK-ROSE-FLORAL-VINE-Boots-UK-SIZE-8_W0QQitemZ290225466867QQihZ019QQcategoryZ63889QQrdZ1QQssPageNameZWD2VQQcmdZViewItemQQ_trksidZp1638Q2em122
AAAAUGH. I’ve just wasted too much time trying to figure out what the heck is going on on this site. All Stars should come in *US* sizes, not UK, and the UK/European size comparison make no sense to me. Also I can’t find out how you actually BUY anything, *and* if it’s a UK site, what is the seller of these particular shoes doing in France???? If they’re a US size 8 with roses on them I WANT THEM.
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Not that I’m encouraging you in any way, but if you contact the seller direct they will probably be able to fnd you some pink rosy converses in your size, since they have HUNDREDS of converses for sale, and some are handpainted.
Did you see the pink hibiscus pair???
(as someone who has spent waay too much time and money on ebay :)
Oh, gods, no, I just don’t UNDERSTAND THE SYSTEM! It just makes me nuts and then I bail! MOST of the internet and computers have this effect on me! If I could buy a pair of American size 8 rose-covered sneakers with a couple of clicks and a flourish of a credit card, I would–I wasted ten minutes or so *floundering*, I have *no clue*, and life is SHORT.
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this page is how to join ebay
https://signin.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?SignIn&UsingSSL=1&pUserId=&co_partnerId=2&siteid=0&ru=http%3A%2F%2Fcontact.ebay.com%2Fws%2FeBayISAPI.dll%3FReturnUserEmail%26requested%3Dconverse-online%26redirect%3D0%26iid%3D300164166974%26guest%3D1&pageType=222
and this page is the coveted rose trainers!!!
http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/CONVERSE-All-Star-PINK-ROSE-FLORAL-VINE-Boots-UK-SIZE-8_W0QQitemZ300221862843QQihZ020QQcategoryZ63889QQssPageNameZWDVWQQrdZ1QQcmdZViewItem
on the right part way down is a link under “email the seller” which willwork when you have joined.
And if all else fails, I am a member of eBay, so if the boot fits…(lol)