I'm just going to pretend that I haven't been absent for 6 months and just carry on writing about life. Sound good? Alrighty then...
I'm back at my parents farm with my love AJ, babysitting the grasses and assorted greenery that seem to grow at astronomical rates. I must say that I have a new found respect for my parents who have maintained the place beautifully for years. It takes A LOT of work. AJ and I left for 3 weeks on a trip down the coast and when we came home it was like that scene from Jumanji when they return to the house and it's completely overgrow and wild. It took us the better part of 3 days to get it back to 'manageable.'
Espen, my dear nephew is now over a year old and is in love with his cat Mewsli Mousecarpone. She is a cold blooded killer, evidence of which can be found under my trailer home most days in the form of headless chipmunks, birds and moles, but she endures him with the grace of Nanna, the beloved K-9 nursemaid of John, Michael and Wendy Darling. The exchanges between the two of them go something like this:
1. Espen sees Mewsli.
2. Espen totters over to Mewsli and plops down on top of her burring tiny fingers and face into her fur in ecstasy.
3. Mewsli closes her eyes in contentment.
4. Espen's senses get overloaded with softness and his brain switches to survival mode in which he must have "MORE!"
5. Mewsli's eyes open suddenly as Espen starts massaging her enthusiastically.
6. Mewsli stands up and walks away, leaving Espen with his face in the grass.
7. Espen looks up, spots Mewsli, and the cycle continues.
It's quite like watching a domestic version of "Tippi" the little French girl who grew up in Africa playing with wild animals. He puts his fingers in Mewsli's killer mouth and she just sits there staring at him, mouth slightly ajar like a mother looking at her kitten thinking, "Ah, they grow up so fast."
Needless to say life is good. My parents are off glob trotting. They finished "El Camino de Santiago de Compostella" in Spain on Tuesday, May 10 and I must say I am incredibly proud of them. In their final days they were walking 30-40 Kilometers a day, my mother had severe plantar fasciitis and dad's knee was giving him grief. But they finished, and finished strong. I would be hard pressed to find many adults who could do the same, much less those in their 60s. I'm proud to come from such good.