The Last September Day

The vendage, or grape harvest, started today so the surrounding roads are filled with tractors pulling steel wagons and heading to the cooperative.

My roses bloomed profusely while I was in the U.S. and I’m sad that there was no one here to enjoy them. Some friends from San Francisco spent one short night here, so perhaps they saw them. I cut off the dead heads this morning and snipped off a few of the remaining roses to make a beautiful pink and yellow bouquet that I have sitting on the kitchen table.

This afternoon, I picked up walnuts by hand. My hands are now stained a dark brown and they’ll remain that way for many weeks. Regrettably, I’ll have to try and use the nut machine tomorrow because there are just too many to pick up by hand now. I like picking the walnuts up by hand. It’s peaceful. The birds serenade me. Blanche and Soixante-Douze follow behind me nibbling on the grass and occasionally they knock over my collection bucket. And when there isn’t an overwhelming amount of nuts, picking them up is great fun, with all the excitement of an Easter egg hunt when I find a shiny, clean walnut that has just popped out of its green covering and fallen to earth.

I’ve never used the nut machine. That was Monsieur Reste’s domain. I looked it over yesterday and I can’t even tell where the ignition is . . . so keep me in your prayers or meditations! The irony is that I lobbied hard against buyin the nut machine. I thought it was too much money, and that it would be a lot more fun if we just picked walnuts by hand . . . like most of our neighbors who have small groves. But after a few hours yesterday and today of bending over constantly, I’ve got to admit that I’m looking forward to utilizing the machine. Also, I'm afraid that if I keep bending over, it won't be long before a wild boar takes an interest in me as a possible mate.

As I get older, I’m finding out that a lot of things I never liked, I’m now having to tolerate or concede their usefulness; and a lot of things I once liked, I’m having to reject them. I’m realizing that there really is a yin and a yang and one would be much happier if one didn’t form strong attachments to either.

I went out and picked nuts for a bit as the sun was setting. Blanche and Soixante-Douze were busily engaged in their late evening speed-grazing, prior to settling down for the night. Eventually Blanche mosied over to say 'baaaanjour," and her sidekick Soixante-Douze trailed behind. I spent about forty-five minutes hugging Blanche, and rubbing her belly. She loves that. And if I dare to stop when she isn’t ready, she hits me with one of her front hooves. Soixante-Douze doesn’t trust humans, she must be pretty smart, so she just lay down nearby and watched Blanche get her massage. I wish I could potty train Blanche so she could move in with me. I’ve never known an animal that is so gentle, trusting, and loving.

Ah, but I digress, divulging my fantasies of having a housebroken sheep to live with. It was a beautiful day here. However, the nights are cold and so this old stone house is about as warm as a deep freeze, because it isn’t hot enough during the day to heat it up. I can’t turn on the central oil heater because the thermostat is broken. I carry a small space heater around with me when I change rooms. Before I went back to the U.S., I had my lesbian plumber come out to replace the thermostat. She looked everything over and said she would have to order a programmable thermostat. I told her when I would be back, and asked if she could try and arrange to do the work soon after my arrival. She said that was possible. The day before I left, I received a devis, or estimate from her office. I thought that was strange because I hadn’t asked her for one. But I thought it was considerate of her to send me one so I would know in advance what the work was going to cost me. I laid it on the desk and left for Paris. When I returned two weeks later from my trip, I noticed that at the bottom of the devis, she had typed that if I wanted the work done, I needed to sign the devis and send it in to her. So, because I didn’t take the time to read her letter carefully, I’m freezing all week.

Another inconvenience is looming on the horizon. My favorite pizza guy is going to leave for a two week vacation this Sunday. He’s going to Paris. I guess I’ll just waste away to nothing while he’s gone. I’m not very good at cooking for myself. My
table-for-one repertoire consists of plain pasta, lemon yogurt, pistachios, apples, and tomato/onion sandwiches with mayonnaise . . . oh, and protein shakes in the morning. I’m not in to making hot things if I’m the only one eating.

That’s all that’s new here today. I was blissfully immersed in divine Nature: giving a sheep a massage, picking nuts, washing nuts, and picking roses.

(The next installment will concern itself with the miraculous reappearance of SIRK . . . the cat who refuses to die.)