CURRENT CONDITIONS: COSY AND QUIET

When I was a child we had pets, who liked our presence, but did not demand our attention, as they would come in from the courtyard through the open sliding doors and make themselves comfortable in the sun room or the back living room, only rarely seeking out a lap. Creaky furniture, clinking cups, drainpipe trickles, odd bumps, and murmering. My memories of being a teenager involve smells, minor sounds, cats, and a dog.

Not always our smells, sounds, or animals.

One of the local cafes had deep awnings, and creaky rattan furniture. There was a dog there who would come up, sniff, accept head scritchies, and then retire to the interior. Good place for a smoke while looking out over the market square, at the end of which the church would be hazy in the rain.
Another nearby cafe had an enclosed front patio, with comfy terrace chairs, a great view of the church, a poodle, and old gentlemen enjoying cigars.
Whisps of Latakia from my pipe would be barely noticeable.
It would mingle nicely with the undertone of coffee.
And soften the old man reeks.

Our neighbors on one side had experimented with a pet dog, but eventually gave it away because their children were uncontrollable antisocial monsters. They settled for a backyard quite devoid of animals and trees, so that their youngest mutant freak could not harm himself, and we largely ignored them. The folks on the other side kept chickens and ducks. Which are fascinating, I suppose, but not very good family members.

I remember the animals and smells of Valkenswaard with slightly greater fondness than the local people or (or climate). Some of the smells I was myself responsible for -- see aforementioned whisps of Latakia -- and the natives had, often, a straightforward peasant approach to animals.
Those chickens and ducks were meant for future food.
Roast duck, by the way, is delicious.



The animals in my life nowadays live with other people. Most of them are calm, reasonably social, and seem to have their own minds. We impact on their lives, but they seem largely able to maintain their mental equilibrium despite our peculiarities. The cats in Chinatown like attention, but don't demand it. And there are raccoons here too. And crows.

The whisps of Latakia are still within reach.

The only rattan furniture I know of is the battered chair where I usually sit while drinking my morning coffee. I smoke there on my days off.
The other rattan chair is "buried".
Stuff on it.

I have no pets.


This place currently smells of fresh dark brew and aged English leaves.
The sun is shining, but it is frigid outside. It might rain.


There are no backyard chickens or ducks in this city. San Franciscans do not understand tobacco, and one cannot indulge indoors anymore. Rattan chairs are regrettably rather rare. The coffee, often, is dreck from 'Bucks, strong milk tea Hong Kong style OR like the English do, is not part of the programme at most cafes and restaurants.

Warmer weather will make smoking outdoors much more enjoyable.
The rainy season here is cold and unpleasant.

I am not bellyaching.
Just observing.

Mijmeringen.




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