The days are full of acivities for us artsy types here in Eastport and we swoop from one reception/opening/play/concert/film/auction/fundraiser to another en masse. We smile and chat, holding our plastic wine glasses in one hand and our paper plates of hors d'oerves in the other, circulating politely. I, who would be out of the loop elsewhere, am at home at these functions and so comfortable that I can go by myself and be completely at ease. I am, in fact, so comfortable that I can dress up when others don't, or dress down when others dress up, depending on my mood or the time I have to get ready. In Eastport dress is always whatever one wants to wear, and any occasion is populated by people in shorts and T-shirts beside those wearing long skirts and frilly blouses. Who cares? is our dress code, not to disdain formal attire but to accept it alongside jeans as having equal value.
Last nightI came straight from working on the chicken house, sprayed my sawdust-covered hair into some kind of style and changed into a skirt and more or less clean top to go to the gallery opening of Diana and Joanne's show. The drive downtown blew the sweat off my face and I arrived on time carrying the Black Forest cake I had made earlier in the day. Tonight I didn't have time to come home before putting in an appearance at the Tides Institute reception. I had been to Harrington to see Alice, then to a surgeon in Machias to have the long-standing wound on my ankle treated. He dug out the necrotic tissue that was festering there like lava in the mouth of a volcano (excuse the graphics), and put on an impressive bandage. It was an operation I could have easily done myself and saved the exhorbitant cost. I arrived still in my doctor clothes, also suitable for the reception, socialized a bit, then went to check on Demeter before finally coming home. Demeter was busy sitting on an egg, so I put down food and water and left. The dogs were their frantically happy selves when I arrived. I could see that they had broken into the cupboard and helped themselves to their food and a whole box of peanut butter flavored milkbones. Also all over the kitchen and living room was the contents of the wastebasket, along with the day's pee and poop. Such are most of my homecomings when I have to leave them alone all day. After a period of leaping and jumping and running around to find toys, they ran outside where I watched them go directly to the most recent escape point. The last few days Patrick, and sometimes Lytton, have been getting out of the yard and I couldn't see how. Unsuspecting as they were, they lead me right to the spot where my barricade of firewood had tumbled down, leaving a hole under the fence big enough for a Lhasa Apso to crawl through. I repaired it and for now have made the yard secure again. I got out the mop and cleaned the floor.
Now, as it gets dark, I know that all my animals are inside and safe, and will probably live to see another day. And, with antibiotics flowing through my bloodstream as I write, so will I.