Woke up this morning to a dull state of malaise, as my husband put it. No real headache, no real nausea, just a general state of dull discomfort. Part of me wanted to close my eyes and drift off again, and try waking up several hours later. Part of me wanted to get out of bed, go for a walk with the dog and try to shake off the cobwebs blurring my mind.
And I wanted food.
It was that darned skeeter pee that kicked my ass last night. I mean last thing I remember, is sitting outside on our patio, talking vividly about the storytelling legacy I got from my grandparents. Then I wake up naked in bed (I always sleep naked), and my husband is telling me about stuff that I was doing in the evening before going to bed, but I. do. not. remember. I mean, skeeter pee. Damned skeeter pee!
I told my husband he must've been dreaming all that stuff, surely I'd remember. But I really don't know…
So we got up. I took the dog for a walk, but it didn't have the expected effect on my fuzzy mind, for the temperature was already hitting 25C and the humidity probably 40%. Milky air, no help in clearing my head. Shower helped a bit, as did the freddo cappucino and fritatta. Still, several hours later when husband started talking about going to the store, I did not feel like a human being yet. I gave up and took a Burana.
We left the dog upstairs to the air conditioned part of the house, hauled milk cartons and bottles and other recyclables to the car and I asked husband if he had the house key. “I've got it”, was the reply. I didn't find mine in my purse, so I imagined it was in the foyer while I was leaving through the back door. I was contented with the answer and locked the door behind me.
Right when I turned the corner of the house, husband called out: “Shit! I HAD the key, but now I don't have it!” He'd misplaced it; it had slipped *somewhere* when he thought he pocketed it. And no, I still did not find mine in my purse. And the dog was crying and barking in the house. I needed to get inside to fetch my key.
Normally, that would be a problem unless we could find one of the daughters for a key. But it so happened that there was a window open in the first floor, to one of the daughters' rooms. And it so happened that my husband's Mercedes is parked right underneath of that window. Well, almost, anyway. So I climbed on the roof of the car, but there was still a gap of nearly a meter between the house and the car – and believe me it was too much for me to jump even though I could reach the window.
Husband came to help me. He stood between the car and the house and offered his shoulders as stepping stones for me. That got me close enough and I climbed to the window sill and inched my way through the window crack. Those windows don't open too wide, but fortunately I am still slim enough to fit :D
I opened the front door for husband and looked for my keys. Not there, not in the hook where I imagined they would be hanging. I took our spare key from the drawer with me and off we went. I found my house key in my purse after all, only in the wrong pocket. Husband found his in one of the recyclables bags. Sheez. We had three keys with us now :D But climbing through that window was a first for me and fun!
Three stores and almost two hours later we returned home. The dog had quieted down, but started whimpering again as soon as she heard our car doors. She really is not getting used to staying alone :(
We carried several bags of groceries home, put the stuff away and I opened my can of gin long drink. Dog's hair, my husband called it. Recovery drink. I finally started to feel ok after having a few sips of that, and a couple slices of salami and mortadella. The dog got a few snack bites too. I tried to fix her snack bone too, bent over to pick up something from the patio and snapped up cursing enough to make a drunken sailor blush.
I had got a splinter right underneath of my fingernail! It was sticking out a bit, so I imagined it would be easy to just pull it out with tweezers. Husband (“the most accident prone person I have ever known is my own honey”) went for the tweezers and came outside to try to pull the splinter out. He sort of succeeded too. He got part of it out, but damned if our patio is not half rotten or something; half of the splinter stayed underneath of my nail.
“This requires some needle work”, I told husband and he went to get a needle. I poked around with it myself, trying to dig the splinter out. With little success. So I cut the nail as short as I could and poked some more. Finally I had had enough. “I'll just get a knife and cut my finger with it to get that stick!” Husband brought me sharp little kitchen knife. I didn't have to even cut my finger too much, and the splinter came out.
“You know, this wasn't the first time I did that. Back when I was a kid I always carried my knife at the summer place, as I roamed around carving stuff. Of course I would also get splinters and then I'd just dig them out with the knife for that was my only option. I may be accident prone but at least I deal with the stuff without panicking and screaming and all that girly shit.”
Splinter issue solved we started to fix dinner. I cleaned out 22 minnows and husband then grilled them. I'm used to dealing with fish even if I'm not really interested in fishing. Back at that same summer place my dad used to catch like tons of minnows with nets and nobody even asked if I wanted to participate in the cleaning of them. Everybody did.
After our excellent dinner of crispy grilled minnows and sweet onions and tomato and mozzarella salad we went for a longish walk with the dog. She was running free in the fields, but obviously a bit tired already. We walked to say hi to some horses at Haltiala farm and then back home. It was a lovely mellow warm evening, and the world seemed just about perfect, all my worries miles away.