how the tiger got its stripes

I made friends with the downstairs neighbor yesterday. He told me the buka looked like “a brave fellow” (that’s the Oxford Greek translation) and said we never bother him, that he never hears a thing. In fact, he repeated that several times, even after it was no longer appropriate, even after I had said “good afternoon” and walked away. I’ve been told he may be slightly retarded. I think it’s either that, or he’s just old. He’s got a chubby brown dog named Maria. They get on his scooter and drive away every morning at 7.

Also yesterday, a couple came to look at the flat upstairs. The woman clicked around in her high heels and took pictures of the building before leaving. I know what that means, because I did it myself.



In other news, I’ve been experiencing some unexpected and very unpleasant complications from having my uterus cut in half. Or rather, from the birth of my beautiful buka. (Nobody has to remind me to accentuate the positive.) I tried to play it tough, but finally, after feeling really sorry for myself for two days and reading a bunch of web forums that scared me half to death, I decided to call the doctor. He prescribed bedrest and told me not to worry. He doesn’t know how funny he is. I had work to do, and a more practical idea. I made a big pot of lentil soup, an excellent comfort food, especially good for someone in my condition, which also saved me cooking for most of the week.

Today I met Maria (not the dog), sans buka, for some talk therapy, which always works well. It works even better when combined with shopping therapy, so I bought a pair of slippers.

I started making this cross-stitch “calendar” for the buka in June. I got to the month of August in August, and then, not surprisingly, abandoned it for other things. I expected, during this extended leave from work, I’d get so much done. I’d finish the calendar for sure, and I’d blog. I’d write.

I've found I can do a month in three or four days, with a little dedication.