Last week in the garden – it was raining and the drops were hanging on the twigs.
Last week in the garden – it was raining and the drops were hanging on the twigs.
Rain is elusive, it does not always want to have its photo taken, perhaps it is shy. But I trapped it here through the car window.
Yes, it is still raining, now into the third day. No floods up to now in our area, but it is quite possible in others. We live higher up from the river so the water stays below. Last week we decided to organise the gardener to prepare everything for the year. He wanted to come last Friday, but Friday is never a day for me for doing stuff. I have my own timetable and the gardener did not fit in. He re-scheduled for today, on Sunday evening around 7.00 p.m. we got one of those SMS messages that he would have to postpone it until Tuesday.
I don’t blame him, I would also not want to do garden work when you get wet boots and it rains on your head. Actually life is quite simple today. If something crops up on Sunday, no problem. Just send a text message on the phone beginning with perhaps an apology for it being Sunday evening, and within a few minutes you reply with a text message. No more starting up the computer, going to the e-mails and writing something which the receiver might not even see until the next day. Life gets faster daily, sometimes a little too fast for my golden oldie head.
So what are we going to do today? There is a trip to the local supermarket for food supplies. Looking at my iPhone (again) where I have the shopping list, I see there is only one item written “weisswein”, which is white wine. Not that we live on wine, but I like it to add to certain meat dishes when I am cooking. Why is the list in german you may be asking, the lady has an english mother tongue! Yes well being an organised cyber golden oldie, and Mr. Swiss also being of the same tribe, I usually send him my list per SMS before embarking on the shopping safari by message from my phone to his, adding perhaps a little heart on the message. I think there are at least 100 various heart designs on the phone. He speaks and understands english perfectly, but to obtain a quicker result, it is always better writing german.
In the meanwhile the real life conversation between Mr. Swiss and me will consist of items to be added until we depart into the unknown. Today is Monday, and whether you have duties to perform at a paid workplace or not, Monday remains Monday. The taste is still in the brain. In a way we are all Pavlov Dogs.
See you tomorrow, same time, same place, unless my monotonous life is subject to something completely different.
I had finished my evening meal which is basically refridgerator choice on Sunday. This Sunday was not such a large choice, as we had been eating through the week-end. My son took the remainders of lunch and so I was left with some sort of undefinable potted meat and cheese. For a Swiss the potted meat is ideal, but for an exile english person it did not really tempt, so I decided on the cheese. Of course a nice piece of cheddar would have served the purpose, but even this was only the “remains of the day”, so Hobson’s choise was Greyerzer, a Swiss lookalike cheddar which I sliced onto bread and butter. I did not starve and I was saved.
I was outside on the porch or deck or whatever you call it, relaxing, reading on my iPad and basically enjoying life, as much as possible with my frugal meal. I then heard it in the distance: a rumble, somewhat subdued, but it was there. A storm was on the way. I did not really mind. We had good weather all the week and every evening I was turning on the hose and pouring water over the garden. This was disturbing work, as I would rather have been relaxing and enjoying a quiet reading session. I was relieved, no watering of the garden, I was saved. We are going to have a storm. Suddenly a strong wind arrived from nowhere, to support the stormy feeling. Mr. Swiss joined me and we were busy collecting pieces of plastic paper that had been blown onto our garden from a balcony above. No problem, these things happen.
My next thought was: take a photo. The result can be seen above. A few minutes later the sky darkened and the sun was reduced to a glaring spot lamp between the black clouds. I was sure doomsday was arriving. I was relieved, this evening no watering of the garden, just cosy indoors and watch the TV. Perhaps there is a football match, although I remembered that one of my soaps would be running. I love a good soap now and again. Mr. Swiss has had his share of football this week. I took another photo.
Doom and gloom: even my tabby feline decided to seek the safety of home.
So what happened next? I decided to put a brave face on the impeding tempest and remained outside with my iPad and camera. Then it happened. Unfortunately the sun poked its way through the clouds and the clouds retreated. Now we have one of those pleasant summer evenings and the worst is to come. I think I will have to water my garden. The weather forecast did prophesy there might be rain tomorrow, but I think it was just a wild guess.
Safe inside, toasty warm, while water pitter-patters on the roof… describe your perfect, rainy afternoon.
Photographers, artists, poets: show us RAIN.
Looks like there is a storm brewing
And the wind starts howling
The cats start running
Searching for protection
Suspense is mounting
The stage is set,
pressure is gathering,
The air is pregnant with tension
At time like this I like to watch from the patio, letting the wind gusts fly across the garden, scattering leaves and twigs as if they were just feathers caught in the wind. I can feel it coming, the sky darkens and then the rain starts falling. First of all single drops, heavy with the weight of their moisture casting stains on the concrete, bouncing off the leaves in the garden. That is just the ouverture.
The time arrives to disappear into the protection of my own four walls, followed by the felines.
“Mrs. Human” Nera the chief cat says. “Do something to stop the rain.”
“Not possible Nera.”
“But Humans can do everything we felines cannot, that was why we let you be our slaves. Bastet, our chief somewhere in the eternal corn chambers, said find a human, preferably with a well stocked larder, and you have no more food or rain worries.”
“Yes Nera, even Bast can be wrong sometimes. Human god(s) can also make mistakes, and no-one can control the weather. If it rains, it rains and you just have to change your programme and put up with it.”
“Felines do not change programmes Mrs. Human, the programmes change for the felines and we are not here to “put up” with things. Look Tabby is coming, shaking her wet fur. Tabby, shake your fur over there where Mrs. Human is standing, not here. My wonderful black silky fur has the wet look, not exactly the thing for a Princess feline like myself.”
Tabby moved and I got a drenched foot as she shook her raindrops in my direction.
“Sorry Mrs. Human” said Tabby, “but I have to put my wet somewhere and you just happened to be in the way. You see Nera, anything to please. You fur stinks when it gets wet and Mrs. Human just stinks of human whether wet or dry.” I stink?
“Hiss, hiss, Tabby tired of life?” was Nera’s answer.
I decided to intervene; otherwise the fur might start flying. “Felines be nice to each other. Look at the rain outside the window. Can you hear the pit-pat on the glass panes? You will now have to be content doing something worthwhile indoors.”
“Did you hear Nera?” said Tabby to Nera “something worthwhile. Looks like the indoor programme will have to be applied. Where are you sleeping Nera.”
“Ok, Mrs. Human, point taken. Tabby I will lay my super luxury body on the soft comfortable blanket on the settee, stretched out to absorb the fifty shades of sleep.”
Since Nera saw that book on the computer her life seems to revolve around fifty shades of everything.
“What about you Tabby?” I asked.
“Great minds think alike, but it looks like Nera has again taken the most comfortable place for a sleep. I will again have to succumb to the hierarchy of the felines and take the second choice. I am up on top of the cupboard, where I can survey everything. When I come to think of it, that was Nera’s favourite place until her sleek body became no longer sleek, a little bit overweight and she started to sway when she walks instead of sprightly leaping everywhere like a spring lamb. She cannot climb to the top these days.”
“Tabby, you really seem to have a death wish today, hiss, hiss. I have told you time and time again it is my super luxury fur, fluff, and not overweight. Nothing worse than a jealous feline.” Nera was again annoyed.
Then it was quiet, just the regular breathing movements of two sulking cats that avoid rain when they can.
And me? I decided to clean out some cupboards, do some ironing and bake a cake. I like to catch up a bit on housework when I cannot sit outside with my computer, or a good book. That is my bad weather programme for an afternoon. After all the weather can only get better.
Write down the first words that comes to mind when we say . . .
. . . home. = Switzerland
. . . soil. = Burial
. . . rain. = storm
Use those words in the title of your post.
The Burial in a Storm in Switzerland
“So what are we going to do now?”
“Now that is a good question.” Jakob rubbed his forehead, as he always did when he had a problem. Seth just looked on, but was sure they would find a solution.
It was not funny being over two thousand metres with a storm brewing and a dead body to dispose of. At least the earth was soft, so they would have no problems digging a grave. Seth even shed a few tears.
“What are you crying about, her time had come. She was old and we knew it could happen any day, we just hurried it up a bit.”
“But she was part of our lives Jakob. Admittedly she was laming a bit and could not do the work any more, but you did not have to shoot her.”
“Seth, that was the only solution. Of course I did not want to shoot the old girl, but it was a crime of compassion. To put her out of her pain and misery.”
The two men were looking down at the corpse laying on the earth. No movement, no breath from the dead, just a stare from her hollow lifeless eyes. Seth had a feeling that they would spring to life again, but he knew the dismal truth. Dead as a doornail, so they said. The two men had been living on the alp together for many years with their friend. They had braced many problems together, but this was something new.
“I think we should now do something” said Jakob. “The body will soon start to stiffen and then it will be finished with a move to the grave.”
“Jakob I have an idea.”
It was not often that Seth had ideas. He was known as the village idiot and thanks to Seth he had been rescued from the brutal actions of the village boys and had worked many years on the alp, cutting grass for the animals and producing cheese from the goats and cows. He was a hard worker, although the departed had also been a good help to both of them.
“OK Seth, what is the good idea?” although Jakob was sure that it was not a good idea.
“Instead of just burying her, we could perhaps sort of preserve her for a while.”
“Preserve her? Is that one of your weak jokes?”
“No, Jakob. I do not make jokes about the dead. Quite simple really. We preserve the goats by eating the cheese I make, preserve the cows by drinking their milk and so we could preserve her by making sausages from the remains. Or hang the meat up on the moutain side where the wind is eternally blowing. We have often eaten wind dried meat from the cows and that is very tasty. We have even dried the flesh of the chickens.”
“But I have never eaten meat from someone I knew Seth. It would be disrespectful.””
“No Jakob. Think of it like this. We would be preserving her and each bite would remind us how helpful she was when she was alive.”
Jakob though about it and decided it was not such a bad idea. It was approaching mid Winter. They had to eat from the reserves they had. They would be snowed in until Spring arrives and it would be a welcome change to their diet of cheese and milk. And so it was decided. Their faithfull donkey Hilda would be preserved and buried in the ice and then they would have meat enough until the Winter had passed. For once Seth had a good idea.
It will all be the same in a hundred years.
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