Sweet Spring Day

A post by Madame

Louis and I have had another beautiful day together. Spring is moving apace in Spirit, and we're moving with it.

I cheated this morning and used the pendulum to ask if I'd crossed over last night. Having been tired enough to go to bed at 9.00, and managed eight hours' uninterrupted sleep, it seemed likely. I wanted to know if Louis had finished our wardrobe (which he mentioned in Sun and Shadow). He said when he met me after work yesterday that he might forego visiting this evening, and get the 'robe finished in time for when I arrived Home.

The answer from the little amethyst pendulum was that yes, I did cross, and yes, the wardrobe is finished! I wondered what we did during the day, and an image of us on our bicycles came to me - “Did we go out?” Yes. “Did we go on a picnic?” Yes. This is the way to use the pendulum: not as a shortcut for talking to Louis, but a prompt.

I was delighted to know, even in so sketchy an outline, that we'd had a lovely day together, and could hardly wait to get to Fawkner Park and do the reiki-and-memory ritual. Even the Scotch mist drifting everywhere didn't spoil my mood, although I'm grateful we didn't have any serious rain.

We sat in the one sheltered seat Fawkner boasts – donated by, would you believe, a gentleman from Los Angeles who apparently introduced softball to Australia – and when Louis put his fingers to my “third eye”, the memories came rapidly. It was almost like being drawn into the scenes.

The first thing I recall was standing in our bedroom, admiring the new furniture. And it's well worth admiring! This picture gives a tiny hint of what it's like, or at least, its colour. It's made of some wood like ash, with an almost pinkish-grey cast to it. There are three doors on either side of a central section, which has a small cupboard above, three drawers, then another small cupboard at the base. The door handles are lever types, and they and the inlay (which is minimal) are silver.It doesn't have extravagantly curly sort of carving like the one in the photo.

What I really love about it is that it's so much an expression of Louis; it's his making, and he's done such a beautiful job. Every surface is smooth, almost polished (French polish, naturally – as he said, what other type would he do?). There are no rough edges, no tacked-on bits. Nothing creaks or sticks, everything glides and hangs as it should. When the doors are opened, they stay open; when they are closed, they stay closed.

I was so pleased with this lovely piece of furniture that I climbed into it, looking at everything, and then stood with my arms round the beau menuisier's waist and told him how clever he is, and how happy I am. I'm glad to say he's just as pleased with his work – it certainly wouldn't have been in the bedroom if he hadn't been satisfied with it. Oh, and you are doubtless wondering how he got it up there from his workshop. He did things in the “pure Spirit” way we seldom use: by thought. While roping in his sons to help move it upstairs is a very entertaining image, it's probably just as well that there are easier ways of doing things!

Once we'd finished admiring Louis's handiwork, there was a whole day to enjoy. I asked if he had any ideas for how to spend it, and he suggested a picnic. Lovely thought, our first of the season! I said we should raid the food we made a while ago (it doesn't go off at Home, remember) for the spring market.

“They don't seem to be in any hurry to hold the market,” I said. “We can always make some more when they do.”

Louis wasn't arguing with that, so we skipped (well, not literally) downstairs and filled our much-used picnic basket with goodies. No, I don't recall any particular foods, but I daresay pastries played a large role.

I remember asking the four-legs if they wanted to come along. “They will probably want to sleep,” Louis said, referring to the cats, though he knew perfectly well I didn't mean them. We were planning to take our bikes and go a fair way, further than even our most energetic kits would be likely to fancy travelling. The surprise came with the one dog who took up the offer: Juliet. 

Now, she's been in the family a long time, though not nearly as long as the dogs from Louis's own earthly time. I think she came to him sometime in the eighteenth century. Like Quadrille, Louis and I don't know much about her earthly days, or even her breed. She's a reserved sort of dog – dignified, almost – although that could just be the contrast with Quadrille, who as Louis once said, would look good in cap and bells. But Juliet came along today, running around, sniffing and doing all those doggy things, and something that really surprised me, both at the time and in memory: she rolled over to have her tummy tickled! I distinctly remembered her tan underwear and solid ribcage while I patted her. She doesn't do that when the other dogs are around. It's not an earthly sense of being threatened or having to be dominant. She's just a quiet-natured dog.

I don't remember a great deal about the picnic itself. I know we were in jeans and sweaters; Louis wore his hand-knit. I know the one in this photo doesn't look anything like it, but this picture is a good general one of us in picnic mode, so it will have to do. I do remember that we had a book of poetry with us, and read one or two poems to each other. Other than that, the impressions are very general, but the pleasure of the day, and the delight of seeing it as I did when living it, have stayed with me.