Home routine, behold!

Little Mary, this morning: I licked your face, and you smell of fish, so I love you even more.

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Yesterday marked the anniversary of my first visit to Ireland, eight years ago. When I was thinking about migration (not that I gave it much serious thought, I was happy enough, had a decent job), my destination of choice were Canada (been there in 2011), or Sweden (still waiting on that one), or Germany (as the most logical place to relocate). I'd never have guessed, back in 2015, where I would be ten years later.

We had a Sturgeon Moon last night.
I stayed up late and read about it, but was too deep in my own world to look outside. That's what my husband's absence does to my Brain—I drift from reality. But that's that. It was Fred's last night in town. We had a lovely afternoon coffee in Costa, fed the Dog, cleaned the house, locked the door, and finito. Home routine, behold!

Below, said coffee in Costa in the evening sun.

Pee-stained pages of Norwegian prose

That's what a book looks like after the close encounter with cat piss. I choose to laugh rather than cry. It must've happened sometime around the first week we had our kittens, and it was partly down to my own laziness. For at least a week, maybe two, I refused to check what's going on behind the couch, though I knew that frightened Little Mary had been hiding there the first night. She didn't climb onto the bookshelf, little peanut, but when the girls were playing, some of the books from the pile fell to the floor and were left there, unattended, for a while (a long while, as the books stink like a dead mackerel). I'd decided to help them with vinegar; the one in the photo still stinks, maybe there's no magical cure :(, but I'm trying once again.

Going back to the book itself—I love Vigdis Hjorth, I love her passion. Over a year ago I discovered two brilliant Norwegian writers: her and Jon Fosse (actually, Fosse much earlier, in autumn'23). The latter got the Nobel Prize, which means a lot of his work has been translated into English and my mother tongue. Vigdis is far more obscure. Just yesterday I found myself frustrated that I don't know Norwegian. Only five of her books are available in English, only four books translated into Polish, luckily two of them are different from the ones in English, but still a big part of her work is inaccessible to me. Feck! Only now have I realised that both, Hjorth and Fosse, debuted the same year of 1983. Both their voices are of extreme literary beauty.

I've read Hjorth's Is Mother Dead, A House in Norway, and Will and Testament so far. I got If Only, on paper and as an ebook (the exact one in the photo, smelling of Little Mary's pee), and Long Live the Post Horn! on my e-reader waiting for their turn. As for Fosse, I'm reading his writings in two languages: have read I-II and III-VI of Septology (in Polish, translation of the the last part is coming out soon), A Shining (in Polish Białość), and two in English: Scenes From a Childhood and The Dead Dogs. I don't tend to read just one writer intensely, so it'll take me a fair while to get through more of their work. Still, even thinking about it makes me happy.

Garden turning with the season

Feels like autumn in the air. It's barely quarter to ten, and it's already dark outside. Fred drove to Dún Dealgan to mind the Dog (two nights left, we're almost there). Bron's two bottom baby fangs fell out this morning, and it's clear that she's got two new, tiny teeth ready to grow big and beautiful. I've been wiping Little Mary's nose and right eye every morning and evening, trying to help her with whatever's bothering her. We had our small litter victories today with Little Mary (I swear, I need catternity leave to give Mary the extra reasurance, our special girl).

Below, our garden in the late afternoon.

Friday’s highlights

 At work:

At home (Fred's gifts for me):

Apart from that, Bron's teething!

Fidgeting strangers

Politicians who constantly invoke religion are the bane of this world. Unfortunately, as of today, one of these types is now president of Poland. Thankfully, in Poland the president doesn’t hold as much power as the prime minister does—unlike in the US. Still, it’s a worrying sign of where a portion of my compatriots seems to be heading: resentment towards immigrants, fearfulness, anti-intellectualism, nationalism, and support for other nasty things wrongly called "tradition", like hypocrisy, violence, nepotism & hierarchies. There’s not much I can do about it, I can vote and keep living on my own terms.

I’ve been reading a really good book recently, Will and Testament by Vigdis Hjorth. It caused quite a stir in Norway after it was published, mostly because the author’s family seemed to recognise themselves in the story, and they were quick to insist that they weren’t like that (what a hypocritical move—either you recognise yourself in a fictional story, or you don’t, either you know it’s you, or you don’t). The topic is quite heavy: what starts as a dispute over inheritance is soon overshadowed by a serious accusation involving two of the siblings who, at some point, became estranged from the rest of the family.

When I was queuing to buy a flat white and a croissant (the ones in the photo) during my lunch break, there was a guy in front of me tossing and fidgeting with impatience while one of the baristas was serving someone else. The guy kept checking the door, glancing out at the street, like he was waiting for a bus or something. Finally, he was served and went out very agitated. Thought he’d get whatever he had been expecting, but no. I saw him again twenty minutes later, walking with the same impatient energy. I realised, he wasn’t really waiting on anything. The restlessness was from within, not connected to the world.

My account

I don't like thinking about money. I like having it and using it, but not thinking about it. I'm paid weekly; since I'm paying off a loan and putting a bit aside, what's left in the current account isn't exactly impressive. I have to check my balance regularly, which makes me think about money, and I hate that, so in the end I'm less content—that's the train of thought I shared yesterday with my husband during our usual Messenger chat, me in the wee house on the coast, him staying at the friends' house and trying to ignore the Dog going mad in the background. 

So. Maybe that's one of the possible reasons, why I've been a bit anxious lately. A bit. Or husband's health news. Or a new position. Or a new position and the start of a new school year. Or Little Mary peeing wherever she wishes to pee at the moment. Or Little Mary being a bit unwell lately. Or my parents getting older, somehow smaller. Or my birthday in October. Yeah. A bit anxious I am.

Dilly dilly

Been listening to a lot of Marillion lately. Of course, the Marillion, with Derek Dick aka Fish, full of that lovely Weltschmerz. Especially the first two studio albums are spot-on (have nothing against the two next, their just more on the pop side). All of them were created in the 80's ... it seems like most of the rock music I’ve been into these past few years is from that era or earlier (→ thus, early David Bowie, love this guy to bits). Am I like old, or something?

Marillion — "Lavender"

The Dog days

A while ago, we agreed to mind our friends' dog, the Dog, again. Usually, it was almost a pleasure to change our whereabouts for a week or two, stay in town, and have a nice coffee shop around the corner (not exactly around the corner, but at least not too far away). Sure, we had to commute to work, but we always do, so no bother there.

Unfortunately, since adopting our girls, our situation has changed; still, it became obvious our friends didn't have anyone else they could ask for a favour like this. We even briefly considered bringing the girls with us. The thing is, Little Mary is still peeing here and there, outside the litter box, and I simply couldn't picture her in our friends' spotless house. In the end, we had to make a decision.

So now we're in a situation where Fred is driving over 30 km into town to feed the Dog and take him for a walk. He stays the night and comes back home in the morning. Ten days done. One more week to go. I can't wait for this problematic friendly favour to be over.

Just not yet

Yesterday, we had a Polish dinner—proper comfort food: potatoes with fresh dill, fried eggs, and kefir. At my family home, and going back a bit further in my ancestors' time, we’d usually have naturally soured milk, but kefir works just fine. And, of course, we eat with cutlery in the "European" style—fork in the left hand, something I’ve only really noticed recently; it struck me how different (some) Americans are about that.

The girls are growing so fast! (their little faces are in the background). They had the last booster two weeks ago, and we’ve started introducing them to the harness and leash bit by bit. They’re doing well, getting more confident every day.

I’ve been thinking about writing more often, but I already have a Polish blog, kind of a diary of my daily life, so I’d like this one to be a bit more random and back-and-forth, not strictly tied to what’s going on day-to-day. I've been in a strange headspace lately (hasn't that been the general mood all year?), I'd say it's to do with changes in my work life. Everything's shifting, I'm waiting to settle in, but some things are out of my hands. I'll get there, just not yet. And once I do, my writing rhythm will shift as well.

Watching them grow

It’s been a while :) I just didn’t feel like adding anything new for a bit. Not that I’ve been super busy, I’m really trying to avoid that (kind of my natural talent, I guess), but there were more important things going on, like being present with our girls.

I was watching them closely, knowing how shelters are full of viruses. Bron’s eyes were a little weepy for a while, and her nose wasn’t always clean. She sneezed now and then too, but nothing urgent, she was playful and hungry, as always. Looking back, though, I reckon that explains Little Mary’s mysterious illness. Our calico woke up in the middle of Monday with her right eye badly swollen (she was totally fine that morning). They were both due their booster that day anyway, so we had a vet appointment booked, which meant we could check it out straight away.

Turned out Little Mary had a high temperature. The vet gave her antibiotics and eye drops. So now we have sickness in the house. Mary’s not sneezing, and the eye drops seem to be helping. She’s still dribbling and sleeping more than usual, but thankfully she’s eating, though it takes some time and coaxing to get the antibiotics into her. Between naps and meals, she manages to fit in a bit of playtime with her sister. Watching their bond grow is honestly amazing.

Bron used to be the younger and smaller one. Her limbs are getting longer, her eyes bright and clever. She’s full of energy but also really attentive, makes these gas little head tilts when something catches her interest. Little Mary’s growth has slowed a bit with the illness, but I’m sure she’ll catch up (she’s still heavier, but her sleepy little eyes make her seem younger, almost babyish).

During last weekend, I also realised that our girls had been peeing outside the litter box, and it had probably been going on for a while. I’m fairly sure now it’s just Little Mary; I’ve caught her in the act a few times. She’s the anxious one too, so that could be part of it, stress can bring out illness. I’d been cleaning like mad, but now my focus has shifted. I’m being more patient, more caring.

Window watch

Pre-summer life

The whole workweek I was in the office on my own and ended up putting together a new routine: up early in the morning (5:30), green tea for myself, an hour later a coffee for Fred (he worked on Tuesday only). Then breakfast, my husband drops me to work, and I stay there until half three. Not doing anything too important—mostly reading and writing a few blog posts ;)—then Fred comes to collect me, makes lunch for the two of us, and we head off for a walk down to the beach. In the evening, I read a book. I lead a happy pre-summer life.