On walls, leaning up against walls, or waiting for frames.
Many Christmas’s ago, my Brother made each of us sisters 2 portraits, out of cupboard liner, then sealed in resin. My middle sister got a portrait each of her pug and french bulldog. The youngest had two of her blue nose pit bull. As Luka hadn’t come into my life yet, he naturally made me two wolves.
This is really big. It deserves a professional frame job but I don’t want to know what it would cost. I’ve had a hard time finding an old frame, it’s an odd size I guess. I should just put my carpentry skills to use.
Walking along the creek to the book shop in a stormy mood, swirling grey clouds of mehhh. I saw my Dad, 6’5″, white beard, parked behind the store, under the maple tree. He waved at me. I lumbered my shitty self over as he pulled open the side door and heaved out a stone slab.
It’s called “The Stranger”, painted by a girl, around my age, in the Similkameen. Dad got it from a friend at the swap meet. It weighs about 35 pounds. I haven’t figured out where to put it.
On the floor to the right there is a long scrape. Three weeks after re-finishing the floors, it still stunk like urethane and we were sleeping with all the windows wide open. At 2am I woke up to the sound of a vicious cat fight outside and a loud – thump – thump – thump – scuttle.
I ran downstairs to find the neighbors furry white cat, freaked the fuck out, perched high on the couch and Luka thinking all her dreams had come true. The cat bolted through the kitchen to the mudroom, then back through and upstairs. Luka was so excited she dug deeply into the still curing floors trying for traction.
Blood from the cat – my neighbor said she fights racoons – was speckled all over the walls. After trying to coax it out of the attic space it darted past me and back out the window. 3am I was still washing specks of blood off all the recently painted walls. Our floors are fucked but the cat turned out fine.
Sister gave me a shower curtain. I had to perch on the sink and still couldn’t fit it all in. It hangs in the barely functional upstairs bathroom. People visiting usually state “Wow you really like wolves”. When they look behind the door in that bathroom, a mumble of “Oh Jesus” and I feel them quietly assess how well they know me.
This big, beautiful, boofer. Descendant of the wolves. Found at the Enderby flea market. I looked up at D with pleading eyes “We haft to have this”. The seller seemed pleased he’d put 15 bucks on it and we thought it was worth every cent.