Betrayal and remorse

I had gone out east to visit Pat but I quickly realized that this was just a ruse. The overnight visit proceeded as always with much discussion but now there was another there. And I knew I would be revealed. My secret could simply not remain.

As soon as I arrived home, he knew. He took one look at me and he could tell. He could tell that there had been another. His eyes radiated questions, disappointment, unbelief. What could I say? What could I do? The scent of the other lingered on me and I knew that he knew and that he knew that I knew that he knew. Apologies burst from my lips, crying promises that it would never happen again. Never. That no one could ever replace him in my heart or my bed. No--there was only him. But the scent of the other formed a miasma of distrust, of betrayal between us.

I will win him back, I vowed! I can do this. With what charm or gesture can I recapture his trust and devotion, so callously and thoughtlessly trampled on my by wild, wanton and careless actions? I fell to my knees before me, begging his forgiveness. And he gave it. His generous heart opened and I was redeemed.

"Hektor," I promised, "I will never let Carly, Pat's lab, in my lap again. There is only you. Only you." But can love regrow where trust has been shattered...? Yes, in a dog's heart which is bigger than the universe and forgives us our sins.

Carly Hektor

There is a Unicorn in the Garden

Well, not actually. Instead there is a peacock on the roof. The roof of my neighbor, to be precise. The attached photo is evidence # 465.23 why I need a better telephoto lens, but I digress.

Sharp and particularly well educated readers (by that I mean educated with respect to American humorists of the mid-twentieth century and most likely limited to my brother) will recognize the reference to the short story by James Thurber in which a husband starts to comment upon the presence of a unicorn in his garden, much to the growing enragement of his wife. Let’s just say the whole thing works out well for him as his wife is carted off to the ‘booby hatch” for calling in a unicorn. But I digress yet again.

Last night a peacock did mysterious appear on the roof of my neighbor. No explanation. We all trouped out to marvel at the bird who strolled back and forth against the evening sky, blithely ignoring the growing crowds below. Despite threats to hose him off, everyone pretty much simply gawked, made lame jokes about whether the house owner had a license (that would be me) and eventually we all went inside to our respective homes, leaving him to roost as he chose. Later the bird flew (did you know peacocks could actually fly?) to the roof across the street and then onto another backyard. “Hey, dad, there is a giant bird here!” was heard by my husband as he walked Hektor around the block. No “Missing peacock” signs have yet appeared on the telephone poles.

I hope he found his way home or at the very least found an amiable pea hen. But then, isn’t the peacock sacred to Hera? Hmm... let that be a warning to all errant husbands.

Les Belles Heures- Prayerbooks and Distractions

We visited the Metropolitan exhibit of the complete Belles Heures book for Jean, Duc de Berry, created by two brothers, the Limbourgs. Each page is exquisitely decorated with filigree ornamentation and scenes to illustrate the bible stories, psalms, and stories of the saints. I try to imagine the Duc or his child wife idly (or devoutly?) thumbing the pages, eyes glancing at the text but seduced ultimately by the saturated hues and vivid images of ecstasy and death. I wondered if the faces in the miniature drawings were of people the brother artists knew, and liked --or perhaps did not. Anticipating Michelangelo’s placement of a particularly pesky cardinal in hell on his Sistine Chapel ceiling?

In a world of death, intrigue, richness and plague that was the fifteen century, how did the sumptuous book so carefully crafted for a political figure of power and wealth function? What did it mean? Really?

Now I simply gazed upon each page, using a magnifying glass handily provided by the Met to wonder at the detail, even as the ornate language resembled more organic shapes than words with meaning. In what ways did this artistic creation capture a moment in time that also expanded to absorb and transform the Christian mythological vision of good, evil and the endless battle between them?