After work, yesterday, we spent the evening at the new house raking several years of autumn leaves, uncovering the gardens. Tim scythed some weeds down at the back of the lot, being careful to avoid the bleeding heart. He even found some things that he felt were probably a lily of some sort, and carefully detoured all around them. He's not usually mindful like that. While we were working, one of our neighbors came out and said cheerfully that we had a lot of work to do. And we agreed with her, even offered her the opportunity to jump right in and help. But she just laughed and said no. Still, it was pleasant standing in the yard visiting with her, listening to the history of the house. It's always the same. The house was beautiful, but then the last people moved in, and just trashed it, never mowing or raking, just flinging trash in the back yard. Poor house. While we visited, a cat began to wind itself around her legs. "Is that your cat?" I asked. We've seen him regularly at our house, and I wondered where he belonged. "No," she answered looking down in disgust. She is allergic to cats. I asked her if she knew where he belonged, and she answered once again, no. She thought he might be a stray.
We got back to work, talking quietly. I daydreamed while I worked, about how I was going to do the gardens, about what plants I was bringing down from my own house here. This is going to be a different kind of gardening though, because the yard does not get a lot of sun.
Once truck was loaded up, I emptied the dehumidiers on some of the planters outside. When I came back in, there was that long haired cat at the door, looking in. He usually runs when I call to him. But not this time. He stood at the open door looking inside and I talked to him quietly. His ears flicked. This time, when I reached out my hand to pet him, he let me. He even layed down and rolled as I petted him.
Don't tell Tim. I think the cat comes with the house.
Oh. Another neat thing happened at the store today. Years ago, I knew a little boy. He is all grown up and married now, middle aged himself. I saw him in the store regularly, and we always talk. He is a musician, a teacher, and he gives private lessons on the side. He told me that he'd had the best teaching day of his life, and tells me the story of a grown man who always wanted to sing. He'd been admonished by a elementary school teacher who told him that his voice was so terrible that he should not sing at all. The poor man endured music classes not singing, ashamed of his voice, and himself. As a full grown man, the longing became so intense that he came to my friend. Andrew's face was lovely in its delight. He said, "This man has a lovely voice. Really." I listened to his story and loved it. I said, "Oh, it must have been beautiful to be a part of such a discovery. I'm glad for you." As Andrew turned to go to the door, he suddenly stopped. He turned to me and said, "You know, whenever I see you, we have the nicest talks. I really love talking to you. You're very special to me." I stood there still in my shock. There's something you don't hear every day. He swept me off my feet in a huge hug and gave me a kiss on my cheek and then set me back on the floor. Out the door Andrew went, pushing his cart. Like the man who discovered he could sing, I felt like I'd discovered something about myself.