March 25th, 2015
‘Tis the season, to lie down. I do this in more ways than one. My little five room Bed and Breakfast, in the heart of the big little city, are in the quiescent stage of the year, once more. Tourism and tourists from all over the globe, recovered from and not yet here again. Roomers occasionally grace my humble abode and here inn lies the tale. The daily diatribe of the comings and goings of all who enter here.
Yesterday, and possibly today as well, come to think of it, was in the “NOBODY ADORES ME STAGE” of illness, with a yet another cold. My defense for such blather is I am unwell, surrounded with blankets and aches and pains. I comprehend, as people do in my state, that people, love me, that I am in many peoples hearts. I well past the onset, the nogettingoutifit stage. Gallons of lemon, honey and ginger drunk, possibly to do something, anything to prevent more of the same, to no avail. The best part of the days, the highlight of the days, was napping. Raw throat, but not as sore stage, a red runny nose, feeling and writing, blah blah BLAH.
Winter is lifting, there were some sunny days, of late. Almost three months ago, Christmas day, Miss Lucy Patrica Golden Retriever of some repute, and I were walking on the beach. It was warm enough for me to bring her back to have a bath to get rid of the sand. Fast forward, after 16 feet 500 cm of snow, there appeared a miracle of sorts. I should be, having lived thru one of the most brutal winters here in recent history, celebrating. Where was I ? Celebrating sunshine? No, supine in twisted sheets, they were as dull and dimwitted, as i felt. What I am focused on was being unloved was of course. My reality never ceases, and in my case, my little business slows, never stops or is far away.
Nothing stops and Miss Lucy P, golden of some repute, has her needs, regardless of how much I wanted to be twisted and dismal. OUT we go both of us to be walked, several times a day. AT THE START AND adding to my misery, a now former friend called to tell me she had seen me on the snowy streets of the big little city. I was dressed for the cold. HUGE gray grandfather sweatpants, topped by my warmest purple coat, mitts and hat of the same hue on hand. Of course only hear what I want to hear stage of my life, and she referred to me walking the dog as “the big momma” This is what I am focusing on. I digress.
My dear and loyal readers, ask did that get you up and scampering to the keyboard ? NO, what sent me to my happy place, and revisit the keyboard was, and it is problematical to know where to start, lying in my sick bed, despondent and dejected, on what seemed all fronts. I rose and will rise again, again and created, the (almost) daily diatribe.
What is it! Cry the loyalist readers. I digress, to the neighbors across the street put out their blue bags on the WRONG day. Not that has not happened before, BUT it has not been covered up in frozen precipitation for the last two days. I know I saw it out of the second floor window. i have as the go to girl on the street, have been keeping an eagle eye the two blue bags from a distance . Why would be a good question. The reason, I sat down with trembling fingers and typed away. Pick up is STILL two days hence, tucked adjacent to the snow bank,the two blue bag and as of this writing, are still untouched by animals, pedestrians. cars or snow plows. All hustling by, in a hurry to get where they need to be, the two blue bags are remain frozen in place. This is the miracle of which I type. Along with snow piled up, more coming, rain turning to snow, dirty snow, you get the picture. The urban Maritimes in the winter, picture. All this I assure you had nothing to do with what I am about to impart. Just adding to the doom and gloom.
As it is quiet from the tourism season, I had a call inquiring about rooming. This is something I avoid, as you have to live with them. The mother was just about incoherent and not going to take no for answer which I gave her. out I went to dinner, to improve my mood, and and gave it not one thought. I get these inquires often. As it is winter, I do not carry with me my cellular phone. Full to the brim on neighbors spaghetti I arrive home to a little black sports car sitting in the driveway full to the brim as well with stuff. His stuff. I showed him to the frilly room, complete with pink covers and brass bed. He has no where else to go. His mother calls again, I agree to a one night, as I figure out just what is going on.
I would learn why he was here. My 19 year old guest here to get his license to teach others how to fly. Please note he is pilot, licensed trained at his tender age, to fly commercial airliners. Planes, TONS of metal in the AIR. He is, bright young, handsome, charming, and young, did I mention that? I hear my name being called, this morning, before caffination, pre-tea. This is when I write, my usual manic state. Poised I am like a concert pianist.
Just as I am trying to a creative idea or two going, jump starting or what little thought I had left. I hear my name being called. I was dressed in my ever so attractive PINK house coat and slippers I might add.All pink clothing given to me by mother since 1988. He could not get out of his room. What I thought was, he was in the hallway and forgot his keys. He, I thought needed to get back IN the room assigned. This has not in all my years, had happened before. ever. I dash to key safe, bound up the stairs, housecoat flapping, slippers fluffy, spare key in hand. I stop in front of the door to room #4. There he is on the INSIDE of his room, UNABLE to figure out how to get OUT. His nakedness is covered by a wooden door.
“Goose!” I shriek, reaching in and around, to unlock the chain from the outside, without ever having to use of the key, I might add, demonstrating to him, he could have gotten OUT with using a key.
He is from Newfoundland with an accent so strong I cannot understand half the paragraphs he speaks. But I do ascertain he wants to be a FIGHTER PILOT. His parents did a wonderful job, CHARM galore.I think all has to be have pounded into him, by the love of a good woman, his mother, who made the reservations. Then the cute thing, and what a baby he must have been, baby blues, long lashes straight teeth, a mug many a mother would love.
He then attempts to leave, THE HOUSE. He is late to school. He comes back. He has lost his keys to lock himself out of the house. He therefore comes back in. UP up we go, and I have to let him IN to his room, Rip thru his bed. The keys are there. His keys slipped out when he fallen asleep early and thereby not able to go get his rent money. I point out to him that if he had MADE his bed, he would not be in this mess.
I would come to find out in days ahead, that the landlord of his previous abode, throws out his roomers early, so as to be able to claim their damage deposit. Later I would receive from his mother a letter of thanks and a magnet for the fridge, with the words, “Bless yer cotton socks.” Confirming that the child had passed his exams and now was able to teach men
“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”
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C.S. Lewis & Moi