Over familiarity
There’s a guy who walks down the side of our house pushing a cart and selling ice cream. Or it could be fruit. I'm not entirely sure what he sells to be honest, as I've never seen anyone actually buy anything.
Anyway, to let people know he has stuff for sale, he honks a little horn. Not a jolly wee “I’m selling ice cream or something equally delicious” horn, but a proper honking, like an old-fashioned clown getting punched on the nose, horn. He plays it on repeat, as he walks pushing his cart. And yes, it really is as annoying as it sounds.
One time a few years ago, we made the mistake of yelling across the fence, asking him to stop. It did not work. Instead, of course, he honked his horn even more vigorously. And evidently we really annoyed him, because since then, whenever he passes by, he always makes sure to stand by our house for a moment to create a little horn cacophony to assert his superiority.
Every time he does it, despite myself I laugh, because I can’t help thinking about how much joy he seems to get from his perceived victory. And I marvel at his epic resilience.
I fully expect we’re not the only house he honks at. The sound of the horn is so obnoxious I can’t believe we’re the only people in the valley who have asked him to tone it down a bit. So he probably has some kind of route that he follows day to day, where he stops periodically to show everyone who’s boss.
Some days. I catch myself wondering whether when he leaves his home with his cart of fruit or ice cream or whatever, he smiles to himself, deciding how many honks we’re each going to get. Maybe sometimes he has quiet days and those are the times we just get one extra little honk rather than the whole extravaganza.
He has become part of the fabric of life here at Tweddley Manor, and though I will never tell him this, when the day comes that he decides to hang up his horn, I'll miss him.
As you probably know, we rescued a rabbit sometime in November (because Fergus had ALWAYS wanted a rabbit, apparently). So after neighbors found this poor, wee, timid-looking creature wandering the streets, she moved in here - all shivering and vulnerable - and we named her, Grendel.
But she is no longer a timid little girl. Firstly, over Christmas we discovered Grendel is a he (don’t ask me to explain how), and now, after a couple of months of steady meals and their own hutch, this self-same trembling little bunny has evolved into a chubby, opinionated, floppy-eared asshole.
Gone are the days when he's grateful just to be fed. Now Grendel likes only specific food, and yesterday when someone made the mistake of filling his bowl with the wrong food, he emptied it out and made a racket throwing his empty bowl around the hutch until the mistake was rectified.
Fergus, who knows about such things (and apparently ALWAYS wanted a rabbit) says he reckons that Grendel is probably a meat rabbit - as in he was bred as food. He reckons that would explain why nobody came looking for their lost rabbit, and also why Grendel has tripled in size. Fergus assures me that meat rabbits - especially male meat rabbits - can be a bit of a handful, but they’re still adorable.
And I guess it’s true. We've all become accustomed to Grendel being around. Even when on the most melodramatic food protest, he really is kind of adorable. But I think when Mark has finished building the shed, he’ll need to build some kind of sturdier rabbit structure outside. The rabbit is staying, but he still has plenty of growing to do.
Lachlan has dyed his hair blonde. I don’t know what age I was when I first dyed my hair. Younger than 18, so younger than he is now. And I know there’s a school of thought that says you should object to your kids dying their hair, but I never went to that school. I figure experimenting with your look to express who you are, is healthy. I’ve told him to hold back on tattoos, because they take a time to reverse when you change your mind, and hence don't fit into the category of experiment. But hair and clothes and piercings I'm good with - unless it's those big, stretchy hole piercings because, like I say, hard to reverse.
It is strange though, when he comes back from school, because I'm used to seeing a dark-haired kid walk through the door. I'm not quite used to the blonde-haired version of him yet, and still do a double-take.
Arthur does too. It takes a couple of extra snacks to stop him barking. Though now I think on it, Arthur's eyesight is crap. He probably doesn't even see a difference, and is chancing his paw just for extra snacks. In terms of looking for treats, Arthur is effortlessly predictable.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve come to view the day-to-day rhythm of Tweddley Manor with new eyes. The wheels have suddenly and unexpectedly come off 2026 for too many people I am close to, and after dealing with the shock and writing the pointless ‘if there’s anything I can do”s - because there is nothing I can do, and nothing that can change what is, I have found myself looking at the humdrum of my life and wanting to grab on to it tightly.
The turn of phrase, the cup annoyingly always left on the same part of the bench. Laundry needing folded. The light left on in the bathroom. Not being arsed to make dinner so grabbing pizza and eating it while watching TV.
So often in life, we’re asked to look for what is special this year, or what great things we managed to do last year. But what if all the truly important things are the ones we barely notice at all?
The snore of a dog, the dying of hair, the honking cart guy. It all feels suddenly so precious and temporary and easily lost, and I feel as vulnerable as a meat rabbit on a neighbor’s front lawn.
Of course next week, I’ll have moved on. I’ll have an obsession. Or a distraction. A surprise bill that has to be paid, or project that absolutely definitely has to be finished by the following week or the sky will fall in, and the oceans will run dry, and my whole career, or even existence will be in vain. Or will I?
Because around the same time every day, a guy walks down our street pushing a cart filled with ice cream, or maybe fruit - I don’t know because I’ve never seen anyone ever buy anything from him. And he honks this really annoying horn, which sounds like an old-fashioned clown being punched in the face. And then I will remember.
xo
PS: If you click on the heart emoji to like this post, it will honk like the horn that the fruit ice cream cart guy does. I am totally lying of course. Nothing can make a noise like the fruit ice cream guy’s horn does, (thankfully) but my algorithm will be very pleased.
Notes From The Valley (Volume 3) is today. Fingers crossed, it shall be an entirely honk free zone https://fishandbear.net/event/lynns-book-launch/
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