Well, I’m all moved in and settled in my new apartment, which exists in utter suburbia, with a wandering brook behind the place and a ravine for walking in as well as paths all about. It’s a good thing, too, since I’ve just been TOLD that my walking my dog on the common areas (i.e. grass) around the apartments is verboten and will result in my shunning by my apartment-mates. And that one can only hope this is turned into a dog free building.

I was told this by one of those mystical self-appointed “mayors” of communities that spring up everywhere. They are usually women with tight lips, no twinkle about their eyes, and a tendency to grab things fiercely with their bony fingers. I’ve run into these people everywhere. It really is too bad.  Most of the people in any community just rub along well together, decide their difficulties on their own, accommodate.  And then there are the people who must have been tattle tales back in elementary school and who never lost the touch. I can just see this lass raising her hand waaaay high over her head (which is of course done up in tight braids) and waving it so that she could tell the teacher that so and so is passing notes. In another place, I was nursing my baby outside on the front porch of my house so I could watch the other kids ride bikes in our isolated cul-de-sac, when the “mayor” came up and informed me that breastfeeding was common and not something we Canadians did in public. In my last place, I received a lecture of over 10 minutes on the folly of leaving my laundry too long in the dryer in the common laundry room.

Bossy bossy bossy. And they are always women, these mayors. I do so wish they’d get a hobby or get laid or something to loosen them up a notch.

Fortunately, I was just returning from this fabulous beach just a hop away.  The waves crash in from way out, so they can be deafening, but the wind was blowing the noise back to the sea today and it was oddly quiet.  The sand was warm between my toes, the other people were delighted to let their pups play with mine, the water was cold but not freezing, the air warm and soft. I suspect this beach is already becoming a favourite place. It’s not well-marked, and part of its specialness is that my good friend showed it to me – otherwise I would know nothing of it. After a few moments on the beach, I was filled. The ocean is so grand. The seaweed at my feet could have floated in from anywhere.  The sand is created from the mashings up of centuries of rocks. Tiny fishies swam in the tidal rivers, mussels crammed the edges of the rivers, grabbing all the goodies streaming by. Herons and loons awaited them. Young teens ran by, laughing like music. Older couples strolled, arm in arm, with old, pudgy dogs staggering along beside them.

Chutney ran like a mad thing, surprisingly, because he’d run about a bit when I was clearing out the ravine. He couldn’t resist playing with two little dachshunds that were alternately chasing a ball and him. He’s crashed now, despite sleeping with me most of the day.

So, by the time we returned home, we were both pretty mellow. Good thing, too, as I could feel anger rising.  If I’d been any less exhausted, I might’ve said something that would have been repeated to the rest of the clan. So I smiled, ignored the rest of her rude commentary, and waved goodbye. Now, if I can only control the temptation to go and stand outside her window and let Chutney poo there….