An irregular, irreverent, post-modern account of the surreal, the ordinary, and the bizarre happenings on and around the Felia lavender farm in Crete

Monday, June 26, 2006

Lift high the roof beam carpenter

Abby and Gilbert sat across from each other at the kitchen table a pot of coffee between them. "We'll have to move this table under that window" said Abby signifying the North facing window of the cellar. And this bookcase ..." nodding at the room height metal construction beside them, "will need to go at the end of the desk". Gilbert sighed and lit a cigarette. "But they aren't coming until Saturday!" he tried hopefully. "That's as maybe but there's no call for us to wait. We don't have to move them yet but it pays to know where they are going to go."

Abby had spent the morning, and an early morning it had been, a 7 o'clock start in fact, cutting and gathering ripening lavender and looking to the irrigation of her lavender patches. Gilbert had helped out today: doing the chores and seeing to the watering of all the plants around the house and there were a great many of those: lavender babies, aloe vera, nasturtiums, morning glory, night jasmine, mimosas, avocadoes, cherry trees, plums, apricots and rosemary, mint, basil, chives and thyme to name just some. And now it was noon and they sat to settle on how they would spend the rest of the day.

"It's not a beach day is it? Too windy by a half. I thought I might write to Hubert as I promised myself a few days back when I had my perfervid spell. I have it mostly composed - just a few detailed wordings to work out. And you?". Abby poked her tongue out, pink and sweet.

"It may have escaped your notice- it often does - but I have some lavender to clean and bundle and hang - about two thousand if yesterday's yield is anything to go by. I shan't be short of something to do - don't worry about me!" "More like 1700 I'd say but that's just my guess. You know best - as usual".

Abby collected her electrical ties and paperclips and wandered off to her potting shed wearing the pretty little flip flops that had been her birthday present from the Dutch side of the family. Gilbert picked up his coffee and his smoking set - Assos and lighter, his constant companions - and shuffled over to the iMac. Those flip flops were killing his feet - toe posts - grrrr. Abby's head appeared at the stable door (the door that would be replaced this coming weekend - "... you'll get used to them Gilbert - jut persevere - they'll be good for your feet in the long run".

"Dearest Hubert. Dear Pal " he pecked out. In 35 years he had never learned properly to type nor to type properly.

(to be continued ... )

1 comment:

  1. I really enjoyed your 'Ode to Sorrentino'; definitely worth waiting for. Your best effort yet.