Copyright© 2012 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
“You’re obviously feeling better today?” said David as he did something with meat that I couldn’t quite see.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Did I hear Trish saying that she’d cured you, or something similar?”
“Don’t believe all you hear Trish say. She’s claimed to have discovered gravity at least once.”
“Did you mean for herself or full stop?”
“Trish doesn’t tend to differentiate, being the most important being in the universe.”
“Are you telling me she has a slight ego problem?”
“Yeah, just a little one; she happens to be super-bright and knows it.”
“Well I’ll never be a threat to her, that’s for sure,” David said while browning the aforementioned meat with some onions in a pan on the stove.
“Goodness, that smells heavenly,” I said hoping that breathing in the aroma wouldn’t cause me to gain any weight.
“It’s a good standard dish—a stewed pork with apple and cinnamon.”
“Cinnamon? That sounds interesting.”
“It has a different taste about it, although that doesn’t go in yet.”
“I associate it more with rice pudding than pork stew.”
“Your boundaries are showing—cooking should teach you to have few if any restrictions on what you cook together. Normally, I’d have used ginger, but you don’t seem to have any.”
“No, I made some ginger beer for the children back at the beginning of the summer holiday.”
“Any left?” he asked.
“Only some commercial stuff, I’m afraid.”
“Could I have it?”
I went and got it for him and put it down on the counter. To my surprise he opened the bottle and poured it all over the meat. Then he added mushrooms, more onion and garlic, tomatoes, peppers and carrots and put the lid back on the pot and turned it down to a very low simmer.
“What would you like for lunch?” David asked.
“I’ve only just had breakfast, David.”
“Well just have a snack then.”
“Like what?” I replied feeling ‘nice’ hungry.
I thought for a moment—I love boiled eggs. “Okay—with toast soldiers.”
“Fine. Half an hour?”
“That would be great. I’m going to see what time the bike racing is on.”
He smiled and I left him to do what he does best. I checked on the computer that ITV4 had coverage from 1.45pm with highlights of the day before the programme before that. My afternoon was sorted—all I needed was someone to collect the girls or remember how to set the video to record it.
The eggs were delicious and to my delight, Cavendish actually won the stage the day before—I set the video and got on with my chores—I did some ironing, the washing machine did the laundry.
At three I left and drove to collect the girls, it felt good to be in sufficient health to take back some control of my life. I was careful not to over exert myself just in case I upset what Trish had done for me.
She was delighted to see me and also pleased with herself because she had proof that her handiwork had been successful. She gave me a special hug and I felt a jolt of energy from her as we embraced—little monkey.
Back at home the aroma of David’s stew made my mouth water, and when I saw him adding cream and cider to the mix, I practically demanded a taste. However, at that moment the girls began to squabble—Trish wanted to watch something on the telly and accused Livvie of messing it up. After enforcing a truce—sometimes I think I ought to ask the United Nations if they have any spare peace keeper helmets—I discovered that my setting of the video had messed everything up and I hadn’t recorded the race after all, I’d got the wrong channel and recorded something from the BBC children’s channel, which they all sat down to watch.
I discovered on the ITV website that I could watch the highlights online, so I wasn’t too upset. I looked on the Cycling Weekly website and discovered that Cavendish had won another stage and because that offered a time bonus of ten seconds, he was actually the race leader. I doubted he’d be able to hang on to it in the more lumpy stages, but he had won a stage race earlier this year—so all things were possible.
I had an hour or more to kill before dinner, and suddenly remembered the dormice. Danny arrived as I was about to go out the door and on impulse I asked him if he’d like to come with me to check them. He dropped his bag, asked if he could change his blazer and said he’d right with me.
The boy’s a quick change artist. In less than five minutes he’d swapped his school uniform for jeans and a sweat shirt and we were off to the university. It was a good job we’d gone, Tom had forgotten—in fairness I hadn’t reminded him—so the wee darlings were waiting for some fresh fruit and nuts. I offer them fresh things like apple and plums when I can get them, and as well, we offer dried fruit, including currants and sultanas as well as hazel and brazil nuts.
I watched as Danny helped me clear out the old stuff and replace it with new. We also have to give them fresh pots of honeysuckle and some grass and moss for them to build their own nests. The grass is new season hay, and it’s astonishing to see how they make nests from all this stuff and then add some fresh green stuff every few days to maintain a moisture control in their nest boxes.
Danny seemed to enjoy what he was doing and on the trip home I asked him if he’d enjoyed it. “Yeah, it was all right,” which roughly translated meant he thought it was pretty good.
“Would you like to help me again?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“Okay, we’ll do it again tomorrow—hopefully, just sorting the food, the rest we shouldn’t need to do for at least a week.”
“Okay, you gotta deal.” We shook hands very briefly, as I was supposed to be driving and not long later we arrived at home and an inquest from three irritable girls about where I’d taken Danny and why weren’t they invited?
“I don’t have to take you everywhere I go, and Danny is as much my child as you are,” I laid down the law.
“Huh, next time you can heal yourself,” said a disgusted Trish.
“Take that attitude Trish, and next time I’ll have to, because you won’t be able to.”
“Oh yeah, and why is that, then?” she asked in such a patronising tone that I nearly didn’t tell her why.
“Because such thoughts are negative and spiteful, and the energy won’t work with you.”
“No, I don’t, because unlike you, I don’t feel spiteful and full of myself, and I know I’d win hands down.”
“No you wouldn’t,” she bluffed.
“Go on then, bring up some energy, just make a ball of it like this.” I imagined a ball of shining blue energy in my hands and my hands grew quite cold.
“Wow,” offered Livvie obviously impressed.
“Mummy got wight coming fwom her hands,” observed Meems.
“Okay,” said Einstein accepting my challenge, which she then proceeded to lose. This was too much for her and she burst into tears and ran off up to her bedroom.
I stopped Meems from rushing after her. I went up myself without getting out of breath—that in itself was wonderful. Inside her bedroom she was lying on her bed and sniffing.
“Sometimes you have to do things with a pure heart, because too much of what you want will get in the way of what the universe wants or needs to happen.”
“You only do things when you want to,” she retorted.
If she was correct, I obviously had a long way to go myself if there is such a thing as a spiritual journey.
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