do mention it {renov # 8}

{previously}

i hacked away at old plaster all morning. i’d arrived just after eight and greeted the builders who were running to and thro’ in a pleasurable enough manner. one of them silently handed me a proper flat bladed stone chisel, that proofed to be a far greater help to my predicament. after a morning of labour and a throat full of grit, and as i was peeling a satsuma in the dim shadow of the garden shed, i looked at our new, old house from the back and memories flooded in. you see, this is an old neighbourhood son and i are moving back into.



to the far left is the mansion (a little obliterated by the glaring sun). i  remember charlotte, who was always up for a chat. the very spring son was born, i sat in our back garden that joined charlotte’s, and as i was snoozing over the whir of the neighbour's lawn mower, i still managed to read COMO AGUA PARA CHOCOLATE. while son laid snoring in his cot, i was adamant my life was going to add up to something. don’t get me wrong. my life has, only not to what i envisaged over ESQUIVEL’s novel. [if anything, the cooking happened!☻]

the house next to mine is lived in by danika after deedee and donald, & old sebastian lived there. she’s new to the neighbourhood, she’s still settling in. moving on to the other side of our modest dwelling i feel i need to point out hitler&braun, not mentioning the war. it’s a zone, alright. but we're getting somewhere, i'm sure. the house i used to live in with son and his father lies two houses down our door, and is an exact replica of our own place. how’s that for uncannyness? dad and i converse daily over the fence. we do bbq’s in season, and we hold dear memories, never mind our changed circumstances. somehow, these simple things in life deserve mentioning. 

[real names in this little tell tale have been altered. my son is my son though.☻]  

down below is me, playing ennio (morricone).