Untukmu Para Pengunjung

No, this isn’t a plug for a TV show. Rochelle left Friday morning for Botswana, and will return either next Thursday, Friday or Sunday (she likes to keep me guessing). I was supposed to accompany her, but I am more than two weeks behind at work. So, I am here alone for at least a week with only my books and chocolate. Well, not chocolate anymore. By Sunday I had eaten far too much of it, coming to the realization (brought on by dizziness, headaches and an ever-expanding waistline) that I have a problem. I’m addicted to chocolate. I should have clued in years ago when I started putting M&Ms into my breakfast cereal. In a brief moment of lucidity, I gathered up all of the chocolate in the house (including our jars of Nutella and packages of hot chocolate) and wrapped the milky sweet collection into a red canvas bag. After a few minutes of staring at the gigantic red chocolate wrapper, I brought the stash to my neighbours and asked them to hold on to it for the week. Give the bag to Rochelle when she comes home, I said to them. I’ll probably ask for it about Tuesday or Wednesday, but don’t give it to me. They looked at me as though I was crazy, or perhaps dangerous, but they nodded their assent. Then I slinked back to my empty house. A house with no wife, no chocolate.

Life is so much better with Rochelle around. Life is so much saner.

On Friday night I read some Rainer Maria Rilke (Stephen Mitchell translations) and watched a few episodes of Arrested Development on my laptop. I pulled up some carrots and onions from the garden and cooked up a nice stir fry with the addition of green beans and garlic. And then washed it down with a few packages of chocolate. I went to bed early, and read some Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes by candlelight. I’ve stopped reading Plath and Hughes before bedtime, as I often read poems out loud and I think they give Rochelle nightmares. They’re both a bit harsh for her… She does enjoy Rilke, though.

On Saturday morning I went for a 21 K run. I am in the worst shape of the past four years and a bit heavier than normal (see top paragraph for a clue), but I felt stronger the longer I was out running. I plan to run each day this week. I haven’t run much since my last race in June, but it only takes a few days for me to set a new routine.

When I got home I locked myself inside our house and hid in the bedroom. Within seconds children began knocking on our doors, trying to enter. They seem to have radar. Last week we told them that we were tired and needed to sleep, but they went around the back and opened the door anyway. Locking them out is the only way to keep them out. This sounds harsh, but I do need moments of peace and silence. I relaxed in bed and finished reading Ondaatje’s Anil’s Ghost. Before lunchtime I had already eaten a chocolate bar, but justified the action by my run earlier that morning. I also spent two hours writing some fiction, which was a welcome diversion to the Salvation Army propaganda I specialize in (although some may argue that both forms of writing are fiction, the creative stuff I write for no pay always seems more truthful). Then I walked into town and ate a chicken while reading some more Rilke. You can’t buy chicken in the shops, but you can get it at restaurants. Strange. And yes, I ate a whole chicken. I had planned to take half home, but the charge for the brown take-away bag would have increased the bill by 50%. Even stranger. And very filling. But I did walk the 5 K journey home.

Anyway, this play-by-play of my weekend is already boring and long, so I should get off. I’m not much of a blogger, but Rochelle left me four instructions for the week: 1. Miss me; 2. Write fiction; 3. Clean up after yourself; 4. Put up some blogs. So, that’s why I’m blogging. Bear with me.

Now, before you think I’m a big meanie, I did let the kids come and play in our living room in the afternoon. They were noisy and messy, but they had a lot of fun. I played with them a bit, but started reading some of Neruda’s Residence on Earth when the game shifted from crokinole to whipping the wooden game pieces around the room. The book was a useful face shield from incoming missiles. Some of the crokinole game pieces are now missing. And so is Neruda, which saddens me more.

On Sunday I wrote for a few hours and also watched The Way Home, a Korean film released in 2002. The movie tells the story of a deaf and mute grandmother caring for her grandson. For those of you into religion, the movie offers a wonderful illustration of the relationship between God and humanity. For those of you into lifestyle simplicity, the movie will challenge you to examine your wants and needs. For those of you who dabble with self-absorption, you will wonder if people hate you as much as you hate the grandson. For those of you into Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgandy, you may just want to give this film a miss.

By now I’m sure we’re all missing Rochelle. Don’t worry; she will be blogging again soon.

Next blogging topic: Recent Additions to John's Bookshelf. And no, there's no chocolate hidden there. Anymore.