Primavera

     

 

     Spring has definitely arrived here in  the Canary Islands, the thermometer has soared by ten degrees plus in the last week. That means this girl here has swapped her jeans for shorts and for those who want to look away now, I'm exposing my pale white, winter legs. Not a good look.

    We  have an all year round warm climate here on this group of paradisiacal islands, which I have written about before. However, when my neighbor starts replanting her window boxes and patio planters with flowering pants, accompanied by her words, "La primavera esta aqui," spring has certainly sprung.

    It's time for the living things in this world to  yawn loudly as they awaken from the winter. This poem by the great American poet, Emily Dickinson, correctly says, 'A light exists in spring.'

 A Light Exists in Spring

A light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period
When March is scarcely here

 A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels

 It waits upon the Lawn
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you

 Then as Horizons step
Or noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay

 A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament

 

By Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 - May 15, 1886)

Hyperlink to Lost Souls Chapter 2 (Second of two parts)

     

    I’ve just gargled with some peppermint mouthwash. My breath probably isn’t too fresh after eating an abundance of herring for breakfast and you never know who I might kiss. Ha, ha.

    Back to the herring, I’ve never eaten them before, but they were superb plus they’re good for you, all that oil. I’m going to enjoy eating Inuit style because I love fish.

    Now, let me catch you up with the gossip. When I went down to breakfast, the atmosphere amongst the family was more than a little frosty and that was with the central heating on.

     Charlie was going on about a lost soul and Stan was having none of it. When I joined them, Rachel told her pop to “leave it.” So from then on, all the old man did was eat and throat sing in between swallows. Therefore, I haven’t got to the root of what’s going on; I’m hoping to later.

     For now, I’m getting ready to venture outside; the kids have chores to do around the house and Stan mentioned he wanted to check out the engine of the Coronado. Just in case it needs any essential repairs done before he goes back out on the road.

     It all sounded a bit too technical for me; however, I may learn something that could be useful in the years to come, so I’m going to go out and see what’s going down. A guy needs as many strings to his harp as he can get. Do you think I can put socks on my hands instead of gloves to keep out the cold? Why? Because I have no idea what I’ve done with the gloves I had on yesterday. The glove gremlin must have sneaked in during the night and stole them.

    Because of the dense cloud cover today, daylight is rather shy. I’ve wrapped up well, and as I leave the heat of the cabin, I can see the truck is parked where Stan has some work lights set up, in the shelter of a large wooden outbuilding about one hundred yards from the house. As I walk over to join my amigo, every breath that leaves me forms into a small icy cloud that floats eerily in front of me. Strange, but true.

    Stan looks up from the inside of the hood of the truck when he hears me approach and says, “Hi, Dan. Are you out to give me some help?”
    “I’m hoping I’ll learn something because I know absolutely zilch about engines. I couldn’t help you even if it was the engine of a lawnmower,” I say.
    “Lawnmowers are not much use around here,” Stan laughs.

    He opens one of the drawers in the large red toolbox on the ground beside him and lifts out a large, oily-looking spanner. Well, I think it’s a spanner. Anyway, with the spanner thing, he starts to tinker inside the engine compartment.
    “Have you found anything that may cause you problems?” I ask.
    “No. This truck is reliable. I’ve never had any problems with it. My last truck was a different make. It used to give me problems all the time, especially when I drove through heavy snowstorms. The filter used to draw in the snow and well, that was that.” Stan stands back and looks at the engine as though to admire it. “I can see by the look on your face that I may as well be speaking double Dutch. You have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”
    “In a one word answer, no.”
    “Like you and I, the motor of a truck needs air, otherwise they break down and that’s where the filter
comes into play.” Stan keeps looking at me.
    “That makes sense,” I say.
    “Dan, why do you have socks on your hands?” Stan scratches his head and laughs.
    “Couldn’t find the gloves I had on yesterday and I knew they were a necessity rather than a fashion statement around here. Socks are just gloves for your feet, so what’s the difference?”
    Stan is now laughing heartily and his already red face is getting redder and redder as he continues to laugh.
    “Hey, what’s going on here?” shouts Beth, who has just appeared from inside the house. She’s carrying a large green mug in each hand; she’s watching her footing as she makes her way across the slippery yard towards us.
    “Look at this guy’s hands.” Stan points at me, he can hardly speak.

    Beth’s face lights up and she says, “Here, this will heat your hands ups.” She hands me a cup of piping hot liquid. The contents of the other mug she’s holding is spilling all over the ground as she starts to laugh on seeing my make-shift mittens close-up.

    Stan grabs hold of the steaming mug before there is nothing left inside and to save Beth from burning herself. He dries his wet, gloved hands individually on his checked wool jacket and says, “I assume this is for me? Hot chocolate is just what I need.”

    Beth takes off her woolen mittens, rubs her hands with a napkin from her coat pocket, and she says,   “Yeah, Dad. I thought you both might welcome a warm drink.” Beth places her uncovered hands along with her wet mittens deep into her pockets. She giggles as she continues to look at my hands. “So, why on earth do you have bright red socks on your hands?”

    “Can’t find my gloves,” I say. 

     “Surely you could have chosen a different color. One that would have been a little more, let’s say, subtle.” Beth’s dark eyes sparkle mischievously.
    “I don’t like these ones much; so, I thought, if I lost them too, it wouldn’t matter.”
    “That sounds reasonable,” says Beth.   

    Stan ejects a mouthful of the chocolate into the air as he starts to laugh raucously. He lifts a handful of snow and rubs it into my face and he says, “A good enough reason, Dan. Any sensible human being will understand your explanation.”
    “We better try to find you a pair before we go snowmobiling with Si tomorrow,” says Beth. She giggles uncontrollably as she leaves us to head back to the house.

    Can you tell me what they find so funny? After all, what is a guy to do when he’s lost his gloves?

 

 (REMEMBER YOU CAN READ CHAPTER ONE AND FIRST PART OF THIS EXTRACT IN PREVIOUS POSTS) Thank you

https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/

Hyperlink to Lost Souls Chapter 2 (First of two parts)

  

 

Chapter Two

 
Day Two: Welcome to Tuk

Brrrrr, I’m going to have to put on another jumper or pull my beanie down further over my ears. My buzz cut isn’t practical here. I might need to grow my hair and have it restyled. It’s freeezing in Tuk; today, it’s minus twenty-six degrees outside. At the risk of repeating myself, brrrr. Back to cool hairstyles; do you think ‘surfer’ style would suit me? Think about it and get back to me. Remember though, I won’t actually be surfing. Snowboarding maybe, but not surfing.   

Moving on; I arrived late last night and wow what a welcome. Caribou stew and walrus meat. Yum, yum. Now, don’t screw your nose up until you’ve tried it. Really, what are you like? Were you a picky child?   

After our little adventure yesterday, Stan was rather subdued for the rest of the evening. He didn’t eat much, which puzzled the rest of his family. He also asked that I keep the incident to ourselves, he said that it would just worry Rachel.   

That was fine by me because this morning his mind should be virtually wiped clean of our ordeal. If his brain cells have decided to store any of the details, he’ll think it was just a vivid nightmare and it certainly was that. Oh, and one of the elders confirmed by e-mail that Snowy is in cahoots with the Red Rider, aka Satan.   

I’m sharing a real nice bedroom with Stan’s son, Simon Tuligag. He’s a real cool dude and has no objection to me calling him Si. Thank goodness because Simon Tuligag would be a lot to say each time I wanted to tell you about him. I had to get my head around it at first, never mind my tongue. Stan explained to me on the way here that he’s originally from Detroit. But, twenty years ago on his first trip to Tuk, he fell in love with the most beautiful
Inuit woman, they married one year later and he’s lived here ever since. When the kids came along, he said his wife wanted the kids’ names to be in keeping with Inuit tradition. He was happy with that and, as tradition goes, they were given a Christian first name and an Inuit second. That’s what love is all about, compromise. Yeah, I’m being soppy.                                   

Back to Si, there’s something kind of sad about him and his sister, Beth Amaruk, though. Sorry, I forgot to tell you about Beth. She’s hot, hot, hot. The kind of sight that warms a guy up on these cold Tuk days, and looong nights. 

Whoa, do you hear me? I’m talking as though I’m human again. Danger zone, danger zone. It’s a good job I’m not sharing a bedroom with her. Forget I said that. Sorry, God. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by wayward thoughts, these kids’ eyes are full of sadness. I can only hope and of course pray they’ll share whatever is troubling them with me real soon. 

Stan and his wife Rachel Nauja also share their home with Rachel’s father, Charlie Angakkuq. He doesn’t say much, he just throat sings most of the time. He’s a real old guy and he’s been looking at me rather suspiciously since I arrived. Now, why would anyone be suspicious of me? Cheeky. I don’t need your impudent little retorts.

Charlie definitely isn’t convinced of my cover story. Did I tell you my cover story? No, I didn’t, I must have forgot. Hanging on to an uvula for grim death and smashing through a cougar’s teeth kind of put me off.

FYI, I was to meet up with my father here. He’s been working offshore and he’s hoping we can settle down here. It seems I’ve been living with my guardian since my Mom died. But on my way here, I found out that,  due to work commitments, he isn’t going to be here for another few weeks. Blah, blah. I’m not going to bore you with the whole story because, in fact, it’s a teeny wee bit lame.

As you know, I’m not good at lying. It’s not an angelic thing to do, but needs must. The truth is, I was supposed to meet up with a guardian angel here, but it seems he has been unexpectedly held up. No need to worry because I know for a fact that he isn’t in any kind of trouble. It’s just his last assignment is taking longer than planned. So, you see, he was held up due to work commitments!

Back to the old man, his surname Angakkuq translated from Inuit to English, means wise person. He’s the local Shaman, a well-respected figure amongst the aboriginals here in Tuk.

It’s believed he has powers to communicate with gods, spirits and talk to the souls of the dead. One thing for sure, we’ll soon find out if he’s tapped into my world, won’t we? Now, Stan thinks its all bunkum, he says that, while he loves everything Inuit, he draws the line at believing in myths. However, his family believes undoubtedly in the old guy’s powers.

On the odd occasion he actually speaks, they hang on to every word he says. Its different strokes for different folks that make the world go round. That’s one thing I’ve found out since I arrived on Earth. There’s one thing we all have in common, we’re all born and we’ll all die. Do I sound philosophical? Okay, I sound like a nerd, I know.

If I’m still here when new term starts, I’ll be attending Boreas College along with Simon and Beth. My mind’s not made up as to whether that’s where all the celestial action is going to go down. Who knows? If you do, e-mail or send me the answer on a postcard c/o TUK. E-mail Mikey if that’s easier and he’ll download it on my app.

Listen, I’m going to sign off for now. Rachel’s calling  me and I can smell food. Whatever it is for eats has a very fishy smell. Yum, yum. I wonder what Inuit’s have for breakfast. No need to e-mail me with the answer because I’ll have already eaten it before you even get round to logging on.

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