Today I am forty pages in to my manuscript, my homage to yoga, my tell-it-all just like it is, baby, no holds barred everything is on the table do you think she had any work done gosh I’m hungry BOOK. Every non-sequitur and awkward verbal transition, every slip of my thong strap is ALL IN THERE.
Just kidding. About the contents, not the forty pages. But can I tell you what I had to do JUST TODAY in order to get from pages 35 to 40?
Picture me ensconced at my bed desk, pillows propping me from behind, research material nearby, hubby’s departing promises still ringing fresh in my ears, and my daily capppucccinnno (how the F*CK do you spell that word???) on my bedside table. You can dress me in whatever best completes the scenario in your mind. Words are issuing forth, like nascent drops of dewy wisdom from some rarely blooming tropical plant. Just not this one.
I hear one of our cats. It is Thor, and he is large, and he likes to locate Loki, the scrawny one, by howling for him. I should have named that one ‘STELLA!!!” I call out to Thor, which usually gets him to stop, my dulcet tones soothing his inner beast. But, he does not stop, in fact his caterwauling becomes poignant, tinged ever so delicately with longing and regret.
Tossing my 100 thread count cheap cotton sheets aside and sliding my feet into beaded sandals, I headed out to look for Stanley. I mean Thor. I did manage to cover the rest of me, too, before heading up to our rooftop terrace. There was Thor, lounging on the roof.
Someone else’s roof.
We have neither met nor seen our neighbors. They do not live here in San Miguel, although rumor has it they do visit. Their closest rooftop, where Dolorous Thor is lounging, has no access (other than the one Thor managed to build out of thin air) and he is stuck. Dylan and I jump into action. “Go grab your sneakers and some kitty crack” I holler, while pulling clean sheets off our clothesline and knotting one around my waist. I sat on our roof, near where Thor had tragically fallen- or from which he’d leapt in youthful abandon- and wedged my feet against the low wall.
I thought Dylan and I had seen all the same action and adventure movies (cue the Bourne theme) and that Dylan would know he had to climb over and scale the wall hand over hand via the Sheet Route. He tried, but then he looked at me like ‘Mom, I must have been buying popcorn in that scene’.
Plan B: Found a large basket. Rigged the sheets so the whole apparatus resembled one of those rescue units they use on sheer mountain faces. Should have been wearing goggles or at least a frosted beard.
Lowered the basket to Thor, who, because he has re-injured his hind leg, is not taking kindly to our entreaties. Dylan tosses down treats and eventually one lands in the basket. Thor gets in the basket-yay!- all except for his back legs. We try again, and as soon as he is fully in we begin to hoist him up the sheer wall almost dumping him in the process.
We managed to rescue our beloved cat without further injury to body or home, and THEN I got to page 40.