Damask and Digging

An entry by Madame

Joyous memories! And yet nothing much happened, on the face of it. Not that that's unusual at Home.

In Fawkner Park this morning, rather than just wait for memories to surface after my reiki, I asked Louis if he would help. He put his finger over my “third eye” forehead chakra (we were standing very close together) and the images came within moments. Moreover, I saw these glimpses of our day in first-person, which is still rare. Mostly I see them as if watching them play out before me – earthly body watching spirit body, perhaps? I don't know, but it's always just that bit better, that added value, when I see it as I took part.

I arrived Home sometime in the morning, coming into the main room and calling out, “Where are you, love?”

“In the workshop!” he called back, and I headed that way, anticipating a hug and kiss in greeting. I didn't get that far, though, because he met me there in the main room. He was laughing, and had obviously picked up on my thoughts - “No need to wait so long!” - and with that we had our hug and kiss. I said simple things, didn't I? How about the pleasure of being lifted a couple of inches off the ground in our merry greeting?

We flopped down on the couch while I asked what he'd been doing that morning. He'd been at work on our wardrobe, which progresses nicely. It must have been about time for him to have a break, because he suggested a cup of tea, and we repaired to the kitchen.

I remember sitting at the table, watching Louis get cups and saucers (don't ask me why we were being so formal!) down from a cupboard, and talking about this and that – principally something Philippe is doing, I think – while we sat drinking our tea. It was low-key, totally relaxed, intimate talk. I don't mean intimate in the sexual sense, or anything intensely personal, just-us, but in the simple sense of things we know all about and in being completely relaxed together, of fitting together, and talking being the most natural and uninhibited thing in the worlds. In other words, there are no egos in need of protection from even the slightest, most unintended knocks or jars.

After the morning refreshment, I asked Louis if he was planning any work in the garden.

“I do not know,” he said. “I rose very early and have worked on the wardrobe since then. I have not looked at the weather.”

“It's not bad out there now,” I said (obviously I had walked through the garden when I arrived, though I don't recall it).

Brand-new picture of milord in the greenhouse (well, a greenhouse).

Louis stretched, then threw open the front doors. The day was full of early spring sun, pale but inviting. “My garden is calling me!” he said, stripping off his sweater to show his purple tee-shirt under it.

“I'll go and put my jeans on. I'm not cooking today, we can live off scraps!” I said, laughing and heading upstairs.

A surprise – of the not-really-surprising variety – waited for me in our bedroom. Ensconced on our bed – our red-and-gold damask bedspread – was Miss Katie, paws tucked under her chest and a proprietary look on her face. “Mh,” she said, which is more the sound of her lips unsticking than any actual vocalisation. As Dawn said, I suppose I should be grateful for the acknowledgement.

The surprise was that I haven't seen little Madam on the bed before. The pets have always been banned from our bedroom, and that was more Louis's idea than mine, although I agree with him when we're together. Two's company and all that. But when I told him she was up there, he admitted it was the second time she'd done it. He's caved.

Oh well. As long as she allows that it's OUR bed at night … though this might involve prolonged negotiations, if I know that child.

I don't recall much more of our day together. I went out the back door, called out for him again - “Greenhouse or shed?”

“Shed!” - and we got stuck into the digging and preparation of our vegetable patch.

And I can hardly think of a better way to spend my time.