for the fans of winter roads

escaped

thus, i have escaped, in great hurry, from the place i used to call home.

the place is ok. there is nothing wrong with the place. the lake and forest and all things are, actually, quite nice.

but the last four days clearly showed that place alone is not enough. not enough for one to be happy or at peace. places, especially places of one’s youth, come in packages. containing people.

and i have run away from the people. relatives. noise. no, not noise, NOISE. the shouting (and pretending not to hear), the roaring tv sets, the radio in the yard. the attitudes.

do i regret? no, not really. do i understand? not very much.

and now, it looks like that my base of operations will be this city. i am un-homed, a wanderer, building a camp.

piezīmes iz lauku dzīves

gulbenes benzīntankam ar godu jāsaka – pēc mana kritiena uz vietējā nelabotā bruģa jaunietis – pārdevējs izteica līdzjūtību un piedāvāja šņabi. a es tur gāju pirkt sērkociņus.

tā nu tagad nokrāsoju zaļu nobrāzto ceļgalu, mērcēju šņabī sastiepto rokas locītavu un priecājos par to, ka bruģis nebija vēl caurumaināks, jo tad varēja arī kaut ko nejauši salauzt.

ak jā. un vēl mans telefons kritienā izsitās no rokas, dīvainā un nesaprotamā kārtā nevis uz ekrāna kā parasti, bet uz zaļās muguriņas un aizplakšķēja pa to pašu bruģi metrus 15 kā plakans akmentiņš pa mierīgu ūdeni. ne izjuka, nekā, un strādā, it kā nekāda kritiena nebūtu bijis.

ārā ir bezjēgā karsts un mikls, dunduri plosās mežonīgi, radi darbojas pieņemto parametru robežās (resp. maisās visur un ir neskarīgi), vasara pašā pilnbriedā.

tā kā ārā neko īsti darīt nevar, esmu atpakaļ pie pusnakts cirkus. ehh.

kāršroze tuvplānā

some notes on the current events

well, my almost 4 hour journey home (the term is definitely imprecise and disputable, as i left here when i was 16, never to return for more than two weeks at a time, usually 2 or 3 days is just about enough i can bear) was successful. i brought a replacement cat (timothy) for the farm, now all the cat staff places are full again.

timothy absolutely enjoyed the bus drive. he looked out of the window for some time, then mostly slept. upon arrival he banished the huge black dog from the house (think in terms of 50 kg of dog and 0.5 kg of cat), and tried to establish working relationships with the two cats in residence. the big red one has hidden himself in my room now, and the black one takes tim as a toy. so far so good.

my mother is not so well. not so well at all. and that is how it is.

i have done some cooking and cleaning and just being there. let’s see how all this moves. i still have 5 days ahead of me. i just hope it is enough.

today again i thought, looking at the snow and hoarfrost crusted sunny countryside: there are very few places more beautiful than my country. very very few. whatever people might say to the contrary, this is a country with the best landscapes int he universe. except wales, of course. but then, wales does not get snow, not much anyway – so my country wins.

i miss some daffodils, however.

six feet under

started watching the series.

for the first, what, 4  films, i find it quite stimulating, and well-made, and excellently conceived, and very, very true.

and i also talked to some people yesterday, and today, and this was confirmed: there is no love without sacrifice. there is no value for a thing without giving up something very important to obtain it. there is no sense to pain unless it is transformed: into an opportunity to extend and accept mercy, into learning.

and that normality is a very, very negotiable thing.

then also, my mother is better. kind of. still in the hospital and all that, but at least she did not sound that queezy.

And. i have almost found a way to banish moon from my bed. cheers.

apple tree

she is old. she was planted by my grandfather’s father. she has survived a world war, and countless winters and summers, and wild animals, and humans.

i played in her branches when i was a kid. the apples were winter apples, their smell – refreshing and beautiful in the dark  winter evenings.

i still come up to her, and put a hand to her bark, and talk. of how the world is made, and what sometimes happens, and just.. stuff. and sometimes i just stand there in silence. and more than a century of spring blossom, and summer green, and autumn windfalls, and winter patience is silent with me.

this is how an alien communicates with earth.

avalanche

one of our cats (the one in the pic, where he sleeps on the laundry, as was his custom) got killed by falling snow and ice from the rooftop. now the farm is un-catted, cat-less, bereft of a noble hunter.