Angels arrived in the mail this week courtesy of a draw by Caution over at the Human Race 600. I don't know much about angels except there have been a few times in my life when I just know they had my back. There is an angel in my garden beneath the deck - a cute little boy with requisite wings holding a bird in his lightly crossed palms. He came from my favourite resale shop in Town. The lady waiting on me oohed and ahhed at him so I mentioned he was to memorialize our dearly departed Lucy Maude - Buff's favourite, favourite cat ever, after Lucy Maude met her end on the road.
GG coming home from work one night found her, brought her back and buried her beneath the roses by the deck. The lady at the shop coughed a little, placing the Hello Dolly she was eating onto the counter top and said, "Ohhh, I'm so sorry for your son," then hesitating slightly, head ever so shaky, she continued, "and...oh...I see...so you buried him under the deck?"
"No. Nooo! This is for Buff's cat! Not Buff! Buff's cat died. He's just a little boy and I thought this...I thought it would help."
I decided to stop. This woman thinks I buried our son beneath the deck. Imagine if I told her that as we spoke Buff was home chiseling away on a slab of black marble GG dumpster dived from who knows where. I looked at the angel in my hand. Lucy Maude had been an angel. She watched over Buff whenever he was ill, never leaving his side. She was like Buff. Gentle. Kind. Caring. Every spring we set a container of white impatiens over her grave. I walked out the rear of the shop, got into the van and slipped into hysterical laughter - if they didn't think I was nuts before. Anyhow. That's just one of the things which came to mind when I opened the parcel and saw the title.
Thank you Caution.
Hay fever in French: rhume des foins
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