The Postscript

There is nothing wrong with our kitchen table. It’s heavy and round and built for the outdoors, so it did not start its life expecting to be a kitchen table. That is not a serious problem. But it occupies a large percentage of our small kitchen and has awkward legs. And so (because I have a far-too-busy brain), I had been agitating about this table.

The whole thing started with Reacher, an exuberant 75-pound Belgian Malinois, and his American expat owner, Anita. The Belgian Malinois is a dog often trained for search and rescue. You might have seen videos of them scaling walls. Peter never saw Reacher actually climbing any walls, but he never doubted his ability to do so if the need arose.

I had been putting off going to the dentist. I knew I needed to get work done where my gums had receded, and the enamel no longer covered where it was supposed to. I’ve been told over-exuberant toothbrushing contributes to this condition, so I’ve been trying to ease off. But I don’t really think my toothbrush is the cause. I’m just getting old.

“There will be monks here tomorrow morning,” is what I figured Jorge was telling me. In Spanish, “monks” sounds like “monkeys” in English. But I was pretty sure we were not having monkeys over for breakfast.

I want to stop eating sweets. But then I eat one small sweet and ruin my perfect record of no sweet eating, so I might as well have a piece of cake. What does it matter? Perfect isn’t possible.

I know there are people who would say having a closet full of dresses (however beautiful and deeply discounted), is ridiculous, and buying fresh flowers is wasteful. I would say they are being unreasonable. But I suspect we are all a little unsympathetic to what others perceive as a need.

Felix was a street cat for two years before he was scooped up by his foster mothers. He was very skinny when they found him. He is black and white, with silky fur and a sly grin, and he is not at all interested in sitting on anyone’s lap. Instead, he likes to tear around the house like a maniac and play games with Peter and nibble my toes to show he cares.

I decided early on that I could not vacate to a coffee shop every time I needed to write. I don’t like wearing earplugs, and I’m not sure they would have done much good. Instead, I wrote through the noise. If I had to talk to Peter, I would go to the room he was in and stand close to him, because inter-room hollering was no longer possible (which might have been one small ancillary benefit of the façade repair).

It was late for corn, that far north. But my dad got three different kinds of seeds, and he soaked them overnight to give them a head start, and when I was visiting last spring, we stuck them in the ground and hoped for the best.

I had to get dressed to go to the gym (even if it was just downstairs). I had to put on my shoes (and we all know how hard that can be). Sometimes I had to do my exercises in front of other people. (They were not the least bit interested, but still.)