Fifteen years into a new century and the miracles of technology only make my life more stressful and difficult. In the old days, computers really were our servants and we basically could dictate our wishes to them. They had to learn our language essentially in order to work with us.
Now, however, the reverse is true, making our culture more like Philip K. Dick's nightmarish predictions than ever. As each new version of Windows is released, each new 'revolutionary' app or platform, our existing servants are forced to retire and we have to update or upgrade to the new race of minions.
What this means, unfortunately, is that we have less and less control over our technological devices unless we are software experts. The marketing extols the beauty of devices that need no direction, that can intuit our wishes and desires, but what that really signifies is that we have no privacy and very little control.
My sessions with my laptop tend to be an ongoing battle where the device attempts to control my typing, my browsing, my choices... meanwhile, my old laptop almost cannot reach any site now because it is so slow and outdated. Microsoft is making certain of THAT. After all, if the old machines remain reliable and efficient, what need for the newest models?
Finally, after almost being driven to suicide by a laptop that would hang suspended in the net for almost half an hour without ever reaching the destination I had given it, or documents that would take almost half an hour to save, I found a new cheap laptop/tablet. It is an Asus and cost less than any others of its race. Advertised as a laptop/tablet, it really is NOT that in practical terms because it is not an 'android device', despite flawed information from so-called experts at both Best Buy and Amazon who assured me that it was.
In other words, it will not support apps that are designed for android devices such as Family Farm Seaside. Being a Microsoft product, it tries to put everything into the context of the XBox. I do not have an XBox and I doubt I ever will. This makes the built-in Music and Games Applications on the Asus utterly useless to me.
It is not as lightweight as one would wish, but it is small and you can remove the screen to create a tablet sort of device that is half the weight of the whole sandwich of monitor and keyboard. When the two are separated, the keyboard appears onscreen and is touch-controlled.
I have had it for about a fortnight now. It took me forever simply to suss out how to use it, to awaken it, put it to sleep, find my stuff and so on. My biggest problem, however, was a leaping, dancing cursor that made it impossible for me to do any writing, even a simple sentence in Wordpad. Whenever I tried to type, the cursor would jump to the top of the page, to an arbitrary point in the centre of a word in an earlier paragraph or somewhere equally absurd. What was worse sometimes was its horrible ability to highlight and then erase everything in a single tap of a key when I thought I was WRITING, not DELETING.
It finally occurred to me to enter the problem in a Google Search. I discovered that an enormous number of individuals have the same problem with THEIR laptops and it is not exclusive by any means to Asus. Dell, HP, Sony even... the laptops can be inexpensive or luxury models and the leaping cursor can affect them equally.
It is kind of outrageous actually that Microsoft would concentrate on ever new Windows systems and yet allow something like this to bedevil us. The solution I found in message boards was created by some independent person and is called TouchFreeze. It is an old programme actually from 2012. It has been archived, whatever that means, but I still was able to install it. What it does is disable the Touchpad supposedly while one is using the keyboard. You would think that would be built into the laptop, wouldn't you???
So far, it appears to be working about 90% of the time. As long as I type quickly without pauses, I appear to be able to complete a sentence now!
Here is a link to a Google code site without any adverts:
TouchFreeze
Some users have complained that they have to reinstall it every few months and others that it does not always load automatically every day. Frankly though, it is worth the effort, even if it does not give 100% satisfaction. Once again though, why is Microsoft not making this standard for Windows???\
Later: I am finding that it does not always work. For some reason, when my laptop resets in any way, TouchFreeze no longer appears to do the job. I tried another 'fix' recommended, which was to change the option NOT to 'hide pointer when typing'. In other words, untick that box in your Pointer or Mouse settings. It is rather difficult to find my Settings on this little Asus but I finally managed it. Perhaps the combination will give me some relief from that awful leaping pointer/cursor.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Monday, September 14, 2015
85th Anniversary of Merrythought
As a child, I gravitated more towards dolls than bears. i did not have a bear, in fact, as a baby. instead, both my sister and I had plush elephants. Mine rather unoriginally was named 'Ba' and Vicki's was named 'Ba-ba'. We obviously were VERY young when we were given these animal friends.
I never will forget the day when my mother chucked away my beloved Ba. I actually was about 10 when this happened, but it still was traumantic and if I had been in her place, it would not have occurred. He was one of those old-fashioned bears stuffed with sawdust and evidently the stuffing had become infested with some sort of small undesirable insect. I fought for his salvation tooth and nail but to no avail. If I had been the mother, I would have made a small opening in one of the seams and removed the offending stuffing, but M simply tossed him. No such tragic end ever was destined for Vicki's bear. I believe my Mum still has him.
Anyway, Ba, who at that point had only one eye, but again, could have been fitted up with another, disappeared from my life and still is mourned.... No one really took his place in the plush animal department, apart from my Eeyore, whom I adored, but who was kind of stiff and unapproachable, not the sort to be taken to bed...
It was much later, when I worked for a local doll shop, that I decided I fell head over heels in love with Merrythought bears. They were part of my psyche or 'collective unconscious' or whatever. I had seen them at Harrods in London and other upscale shops, but I did not have any.
At this point, I did not much like bears that were made in fantasy colours. I opted instead for a lovely grey bear, even though grey technically is not really a 'bear' colour' and then my darling, miniature Magnet bear. Later, when I had my own little business, I had a Merrythought account and was able to order the bears that attracted me most. By then, I had expanded my taste to include fantasy colours, and one of my dearest friends now is gorgeous lavender bear. You will see him in one of the photographs.
As this autumn marks the 85th Anniversary of this wonderful British firm, I thought it would be appropriate to include a little post about Merrythought on my site. If you are looking for a 'forever friend' for one of your own children, grandchildren or yourself, you could not do better than to buy a Merrythought. British-made, indeed, made with great care and love of the very best materials, they are a part of history as well as an art form that I hope will endure another century.
The photographs shown below are of Merrythoughts from my own little collection. The first is of a Classic Merrythought, a largish fellow who comes in many different colours. All my Merrythoughts, apart from an enormous vintage cat from the 1960s who was created as part of a group of animals intended to house jam-jams (pajamas), are made of mohair.
The second photograph includes a very special Wedding Bear made to celebrate the ultimately rather ill-fated nuptials between Charles and Di. The one on the far left is a reproduction of a very old and famous Merrythought and he wears a tiny Merrythought change purse round his neck (my own addition). On the far right is possibly my favourite bear in my favourite colour which is lavender. He vies for 'favourite' actually with the tiny Merrythought shown in the third photograph, a reproduction of the 'Magnet' bear, I seem to recall. Somewhere I do have a book on Merrythought. Need to find it and add more information to this post, because Merrythought deserves international recognition, although, outside the Commonwealth, they are not as famous as their German counterpart, Steiff.
I never will forget the day when my mother chucked away my beloved Ba. I actually was about 10 when this happened, but it still was traumantic and if I had been in her place, it would not have occurred. He was one of those old-fashioned bears stuffed with sawdust and evidently the stuffing had become infested with some sort of small undesirable insect. I fought for his salvation tooth and nail but to no avail. If I had been the mother, I would have made a small opening in one of the seams and removed the offending stuffing, but M simply tossed him. No such tragic end ever was destined for Vicki's bear. I believe my Mum still has him.
Anyway, Ba, who at that point had only one eye, but again, could have been fitted up with another, disappeared from my life and still is mourned.... No one really took his place in the plush animal department, apart from my Eeyore, whom I adored, but who was kind of stiff and unapproachable, not the sort to be taken to bed...
It was much later, when I worked for a local doll shop, that I decided I fell head over heels in love with Merrythought bears. They were part of my psyche or 'collective unconscious' or whatever. I had seen them at Harrods in London and other upscale shops, but I did not have any.
At this point, I did not much like bears that were made in fantasy colours. I opted instead for a lovely grey bear, even though grey technically is not really a 'bear' colour' and then my darling, miniature Magnet bear. Later, when I had my own little business, I had a Merrythought account and was able to order the bears that attracted me most. By then, I had expanded my taste to include fantasy colours, and one of my dearest friends now is gorgeous lavender bear. You will see him in one of the photographs.
As this autumn marks the 85th Anniversary of this wonderful British firm, I thought it would be appropriate to include a little post about Merrythought on my site. If you are looking for a 'forever friend' for one of your own children, grandchildren or yourself, you could not do better than to buy a Merrythought. British-made, indeed, made with great care and love of the very best materials, they are a part of history as well as an art form that I hope will endure another century.
The photographs shown below are of Merrythoughts from my own little collection. The first is of a Classic Merrythought, a largish fellow who comes in many different colours. All my Merrythoughts, apart from an enormous vintage cat from the 1960s who was created as part of a group of animals intended to house jam-jams (pajamas), are made of mohair.
The second photograph includes a very special Wedding Bear made to celebrate the ultimately rather ill-fated nuptials between Charles and Di. The one on the far left is a reproduction of a very old and famous Merrythought and he wears a tiny Merrythought change purse round his neck (my own addition). On the far right is possibly my favourite bear in my favourite colour which is lavender. He vies for 'favourite' actually with the tiny Merrythought shown in the third photograph, a reproduction of the 'Magnet' bear, I seem to recall. Somewhere I do have a book on Merrythought. Need to find it and add more information to this post, because Merrythought deserves international recognition, although, outside the Commonwealth, they are not as famous as their German counterpart, Steiff.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Lord Shiva and the Goddess Kali
For whatever reason, the only Hindu gods that ever appealed to me personally, and on some very profound level, whether or not I comprehended why, were Lord Shiva and Durga, a form of Kali, the Great Goddess. The image that I recalled first and the one that continues to stay with me, is that of the Goddess Kali dancing upon the body of her Lord, Shiva. In fact, when I was attempting sculpture as an art form, I made a sculpture of Kali with Lord Shiva prone beneath her, utterly submissive while she brandished her weapons and skulls.
I know that many people are attracted to Krishna but to me, he was too much of an unprincipled rake and libertine, off dancing with the gopis endlessly. Shiva on the other hand, was so devastated by the suicide of his first wife that he retreated to the Himalayas and could not be roused until he was persuaded that she would return in another form.
In a sense, Shiva is closest to Attis, Adonis and even Christ in that he was willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of the universe by drinking the poison that threatened all with total extinction. That is why his throat is blue. Although he could not die, being immortal, he was in utter agony until the Mother Goddess, his spouse, gave him her milk to drink. This brings us to the eternal mystery of the Great Goddess with her Consort who is her Son as well, as Shiva became a child in order to suckle at her breast.
There is an old Greek rite wherein grown men crawled through the legs of a woman and then nursed at her breast. I believe it was a rite of adoption but it mirrors a far more ancient mystery wherein the spouse temporarily acknowledges that he is the child/son of the Great Mother.
Both Shiva and Kali are portrayed in the act of the Divine Dance of Life, Death and Rebirth. Portrayals of Shiva are far more common than those of the Goddess in this form. I suppose one of the reasons I like these two so much is that, like the Goddess Freya, they embrace both Love and Death, are great Warriors and yet are associated with Love as well. Freya in her own guise never is portrayed as a Mother or Wife, but Frigga definitely is and it is thought that both are one and the same ultimately.
Kali is depicted often as the Terrible One with tongue hanging out, filled with an insatiable thirst for blood, much like the old Canaanite goddess. And yet, this thirst was summoned by the Gods in order to save the world and she ultimately is calmed by her spouse, because he steps into her path and when she begins to dance upon him to annihilate him, she recognises him as her Love and desists.
A thought just occurred to me. Perhaps this dance or trampling is related to the method by which the grapes are pressed into wine. Certainly many of the mystery religions (of which I consider devotion to Shiva and Kali one) are involved with the mystery of intoxicants, whether wine or soma and the 'dance', albeit an action with far greater significance than simple wine-pressing may have been associated with that and with the agricultural actions that transform grain into bread.
The old Canaanite myth of Mot, Lord of Death, includes a description of his death and transformation by the Great Goddess who 'winnows' him and performs all the other acts associated with the harvest of grain.
One can perceive therefore, two very distinct acts of Sacrifice by Lord Shiva. The first is the act of draining the sea of the poison that appeared WITH the elixir of Immortality and threatened the entire universe. The second is his Sacrifice at the hends of his consort and mother, the Great Goddess Kali.
It is interesting to note here that we have two very different forms of the Eternal Sacrifice. One is the transformation of the Sacrifice in the form of Grain or Grape and the other is the Sacrifice by hanging. There is a Sacrificial Pole in Hindu tradition but I have not found any associations with Lord Shiva yet. His association with Death, like that of Kali, is the cremation grounds.
To know whether Kail is in her benign aspect or her terrible one can be as simple as paying attention to the foot that is raised and the hand that brandishes the curved sword. If her left foot is raised and the sword is in her right hand, she is the Terrible Mother of the cremation ground. If, however, her right foot is raised and she holds the curved sword in her left hand, she is the Bountiful and all-nurturing Mother. As a woman who is left-handed, I find this personally interesting...
Despite the fact or perhaps because of the fact that I spend part of my childhood in Nepal, and was personally acquainted with many aspects of Hindu worship and festivals, I tended to steer clear of anything that reminded me of that religion until recently. I definitely was very conscious of the raw power that inhabited the temples and the power in the bloodletting rites. There was great beauty and joy in the festivals as well. I miss those garlands of fresh flowers and the music that pervaded the atmosphere during any festival.
One of the reasons I kept my distance from all this after returning to the West is because I did not LIKE the massive pilgrimage of Westerners to India and Nepal to gain 'wisdom'. I felt that wisdom could be found in our own heritage and when people treated me like some sort of enlightened guru (at the tender age of 13) upon my return from Nepal, I was disgusted by it all. Coincidentally, it was the same time that the Beatles visited India to soak up the culture and music and 'wisdom' of the East. Sadly, it turned me off and I slammed the door basically on everything associated with Nepal.
Looking back, I probably would have done well at the London School of Oriental and African Studies and I would have enjoyed the immersion in ancient Nepalese culture if I had not become so conflicted emotionally. I was a child and there was no one to help me disentangle the threads of hurt and betrayal from everything positive and golden about Nepal.
I know that many people are attracted to Krishna but to me, he was too much of an unprincipled rake and libertine, off dancing with the gopis endlessly. Shiva on the other hand, was so devastated by the suicide of his first wife that he retreated to the Himalayas and could not be roused until he was persuaded that she would return in another form.
In a sense, Shiva is closest to Attis, Adonis and even Christ in that he was willing to sacrifice himself for the sake of the universe by drinking the poison that threatened all with total extinction. That is why his throat is blue. Although he could not die, being immortal, he was in utter agony until the Mother Goddess, his spouse, gave him her milk to drink. This brings us to the eternal mystery of the Great Goddess with her Consort who is her Son as well, as Shiva became a child in order to suckle at her breast.
There is an old Greek rite wherein grown men crawled through the legs of a woman and then nursed at her breast. I believe it was a rite of adoption but it mirrors a far more ancient mystery wherein the spouse temporarily acknowledges that he is the child/son of the Great Mother.
Both Shiva and Kali are portrayed in the act of the Divine Dance of Life, Death and Rebirth. Portrayals of Shiva are far more common than those of the Goddess in this form. I suppose one of the reasons I like these two so much is that, like the Goddess Freya, they embrace both Love and Death, are great Warriors and yet are associated with Love as well. Freya in her own guise never is portrayed as a Mother or Wife, but Frigga definitely is and it is thought that both are one and the same ultimately.
Kali is depicted often as the Terrible One with tongue hanging out, filled with an insatiable thirst for blood, much like the old Canaanite goddess. And yet, this thirst was summoned by the Gods in order to save the world and she ultimately is calmed by her spouse, because he steps into her path and when she begins to dance upon him to annihilate him, she recognises him as her Love and desists.
A thought just occurred to me. Perhaps this dance or trampling is related to the method by which the grapes are pressed into wine. Certainly many of the mystery religions (of which I consider devotion to Shiva and Kali one) are involved with the mystery of intoxicants, whether wine or soma and the 'dance', albeit an action with far greater significance than simple wine-pressing may have been associated with that and with the agricultural actions that transform grain into bread.
The old Canaanite myth of Mot, Lord of Death, includes a description of his death and transformation by the Great Goddess who 'winnows' him and performs all the other acts associated with the harvest of grain.
One can perceive therefore, two very distinct acts of Sacrifice by Lord Shiva. The first is the act of draining the sea of the poison that appeared WITH the elixir of Immortality and threatened the entire universe. The second is his Sacrifice at the hends of his consort and mother, the Great Goddess Kali.
It is interesting to note here that we have two very different forms of the Eternal Sacrifice. One is the transformation of the Sacrifice in the form of Grain or Grape and the other is the Sacrifice by hanging. There is a Sacrificial Pole in Hindu tradition but I have not found any associations with Lord Shiva yet. His association with Death, like that of Kali, is the cremation grounds.
To know whether Kail is in her benign aspect or her terrible one can be as simple as paying attention to the foot that is raised and the hand that brandishes the curved sword. If her left foot is raised and the sword is in her right hand, she is the Terrible Mother of the cremation ground. If, however, her right foot is raised and she holds the curved sword in her left hand, she is the Bountiful and all-nurturing Mother. As a woman who is left-handed, I find this personally interesting...
Despite the fact or perhaps because of the fact that I spend part of my childhood in Nepal, and was personally acquainted with many aspects of Hindu worship and festivals, I tended to steer clear of anything that reminded me of that religion until recently. I definitely was very conscious of the raw power that inhabited the temples and the power in the bloodletting rites. There was great beauty and joy in the festivals as well. I miss those garlands of fresh flowers and the music that pervaded the atmosphere during any festival.
One of the reasons I kept my distance from all this after returning to the West is because I did not LIKE the massive pilgrimage of Westerners to India and Nepal to gain 'wisdom'. I felt that wisdom could be found in our own heritage and when people treated me like some sort of enlightened guru (at the tender age of 13) upon my return from Nepal, I was disgusted by it all. Coincidentally, it was the same time that the Beatles visited India to soak up the culture and music and 'wisdom' of the East. Sadly, it turned me off and I slammed the door basically on everything associated with Nepal.
Looking back, I probably would have done well at the London School of Oriental and African Studies and I would have enjoyed the immersion in ancient Nepalese culture if I had not become so conflicted emotionally. I was a child and there was no one to help me disentangle the threads of hurt and betrayal from everything positive and golden about Nepal.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
The Importance of Being H.P. (not the company!)
When one is disabled, one is iin a position where often one must seek help in odd places. It was my Mother who asked a neighbour of ours, nicknamed H.P., if he would be willing to help me. To my horror (I admit), I hobbled back to the car to find her chatting like a house on fire with him and proclaiming him to be 'an answer to your prayers'. Well, far be it from me to judge a person solely on his/her past, but two felony convictions and prison sentences as well as a confession from him that he had been a crack addict for years, had made me a little wary... Nonetheless, beggars and cripples cannot be choosers and I decided to give him a chance.
Thus began a most bizarre year of working with H.P.... and a situation reminiscent of the famous Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer film, 'Gaslight'.
H.P. repeatedly extolled the potential benefits of giving him keys to the mansion (well, dilapidated row home actually) but I had enough sense at least to keep that at bay. He did have the combination to the lock for the back porch where many of my books and Freya's old toys still remained, some of them damaged by the water leak but others still intact. Whenever he brought up the key subject, I would remind him gently that he HAD access to the back porch and yet had made no progress placing my books in boxes even though I had told him he would be paid to do it. So what would be the point of having keys to OTHER rooms as well?
In any event, in a year, H.P. broke a number of lamps, bent and crushed pieces of silver jewelry and otherwise created more damage in certain instances than had existed, but at the same time, could be a tremendous help as well. He helped me find a number of treasures, often in places where I could have sworn I never would have placed them. He would hand me objects periodically with a sort of mystical air... a sapphire and gold ring which he claimed he had found on his shoe of all places, a bag of doll jewelry, which he claimed had fallen out of a bag of mine and so on and so forth...
I puzzled over these 'finds' a little, deciding finally that he was playing some sort of arcane mind-game, either to prove how much he could be trusted, show me how much power he had over my belongings or finally, to drive me completely insane as Charles Boyer had attempted in 'Gaslight'.
Then came the instances of arriving at the house to find a door unlocked, when I knew that the door had been locked and bolted before I had left previously. The first time it was the sliding door in the kitchen. I myself had locked it and placed the wooden stick in the little track on which it slid, so I knew it had been locked the last time I had left the house.
At first I blamed J., because he is careless with locks, and even left doors unlocked at the new house, but he swore repeatedly he had not been to the old house for months. I tortured myself with anxiety and doubt but finally let it go as it appeared nothing had been taken.
Then came the day when the front door was left unlocked. Again, I was well aware of having locked and bolted it properly upon my departure. This was when H.P. told me that, 'if any one wants to get into a house, a lock won't stop him.' And then claimed that the lock was faulty. I happened to know it was NOT weak because some one had fixed it to make certain that it could not pop open after the key had been turned.
Again, though, I finally had to simply count myself fortunate that nothing had been taken, or at least nothing I could see. H.P. told me that there was so much random stuff that a burgler would not know where to look and moreover, probably would initiate an avalanche of boxes so that when we arrived to work there again, we would find a corpse submerged by dolls and other objets du virtu. I laughed, a trifle uneasily and the work went on...
Now we come to the point where I found MY bedroom door unlocked. This always was the weakest link in the house. My door opened into the back porch, where H.P. did have access. In fact, I have to admit that when I locked myself out of the house a few times over the years, I broke back into the house by inserting a knife in the space between the door and the lock mechanism and quite easily opened it. The fact that the person who did this now would LEAVE it unlocked though was a bit perplexing.
... until recently, when J. discovered that an enormous glass bottle filled with coins had disappeared from the back of his wardrobe upstairs. He claimed that they were worth quite a bit, about two hundred dollars... Even though he is prone to exaggerate any losses he incurs, it probably was at least one hundred dollars and the entire bottle was gone, having vanished from the premises like a jinn in a puff of smoke.
He discovered the loss a couple of days ago. At this point in time, H.P. allegedly had a job and no longer offered to work with me. At the same time that J. discovered his losses, I found a number of items for which I had been searching. They definitely were NOT where I had left them, however.
What goes through H.P.'s mind? Did he simply move things that belonged to me without tampering with them otherwise or did he actually take them and then bring them back only if and when I mentioned them to him? It's disturbing and the fact that I still am searching for some valuables makes me wonder what the future holds.
I have weird visions of him in the house at night especially, wandeirng about, opening tins, opening wardrobes, searching through things randomly, exploring in a bizarre journey of discovery for which he alone knows the reasons. I used to think he found things for me to be a sort of hero... for the gratitude and so on. Now I wonder. He is a complicated individual with a very chequered past. I needed his help and he did help me. Without his help now, I wonder how I will cope with the old house. It is all very vexing and actually upsetting. J. keeps threatening to sell the house, to 'clear it out' summarily. I am incapable physically of moving the heavy boxes and furniture that needs to be moved in order to retrieve items that are behind them.
Thus began a most bizarre year of working with H.P.... and a situation reminiscent of the famous Ingrid Bergman and Charles Boyer film, 'Gaslight'.
H.P. repeatedly extolled the potential benefits of giving him keys to the mansion (well, dilapidated row home actually) but I had enough sense at least to keep that at bay. He did have the combination to the lock for the back porch where many of my books and Freya's old toys still remained, some of them damaged by the water leak but others still intact. Whenever he brought up the key subject, I would remind him gently that he HAD access to the back porch and yet had made no progress placing my books in boxes even though I had told him he would be paid to do it. So what would be the point of having keys to OTHER rooms as well?
In any event, in a year, H.P. broke a number of lamps, bent and crushed pieces of silver jewelry and otherwise created more damage in certain instances than had existed, but at the same time, could be a tremendous help as well. He helped me find a number of treasures, often in places where I could have sworn I never would have placed them. He would hand me objects periodically with a sort of mystical air... a sapphire and gold ring which he claimed he had found on his shoe of all places, a bag of doll jewelry, which he claimed had fallen out of a bag of mine and so on and so forth...
I puzzled over these 'finds' a little, deciding finally that he was playing some sort of arcane mind-game, either to prove how much he could be trusted, show me how much power he had over my belongings or finally, to drive me completely insane as Charles Boyer had attempted in 'Gaslight'.
Then came the instances of arriving at the house to find a door unlocked, when I knew that the door had been locked and bolted before I had left previously. The first time it was the sliding door in the kitchen. I myself had locked it and placed the wooden stick in the little track on which it slid, so I knew it had been locked the last time I had left the house.
At first I blamed J., because he is careless with locks, and even left doors unlocked at the new house, but he swore repeatedly he had not been to the old house for months. I tortured myself with anxiety and doubt but finally let it go as it appeared nothing had been taken.
Then came the day when the front door was left unlocked. Again, I was well aware of having locked and bolted it properly upon my departure. This was when H.P. told me that, 'if any one wants to get into a house, a lock won't stop him.' And then claimed that the lock was faulty. I happened to know it was NOT weak because some one had fixed it to make certain that it could not pop open after the key had been turned.
Again, though, I finally had to simply count myself fortunate that nothing had been taken, or at least nothing I could see. H.P. told me that there was so much random stuff that a burgler would not know where to look and moreover, probably would initiate an avalanche of boxes so that when we arrived to work there again, we would find a corpse submerged by dolls and other objets du virtu. I laughed, a trifle uneasily and the work went on...
Now we come to the point where I found MY bedroom door unlocked. This always was the weakest link in the house. My door opened into the back porch, where H.P. did have access. In fact, I have to admit that when I locked myself out of the house a few times over the years, I broke back into the house by inserting a knife in the space between the door and the lock mechanism and quite easily opened it. The fact that the person who did this now would LEAVE it unlocked though was a bit perplexing.
... until recently, when J. discovered that an enormous glass bottle filled with coins had disappeared from the back of his wardrobe upstairs. He claimed that they were worth quite a bit, about two hundred dollars... Even though he is prone to exaggerate any losses he incurs, it probably was at least one hundred dollars and the entire bottle was gone, having vanished from the premises like a jinn in a puff of smoke.
He discovered the loss a couple of days ago. At this point in time, H.P. allegedly had a job and no longer offered to work with me. At the same time that J. discovered his losses, I found a number of items for which I had been searching. They definitely were NOT where I had left them, however.
What goes through H.P.'s mind? Did he simply move things that belonged to me without tampering with them otherwise or did he actually take them and then bring them back only if and when I mentioned them to him? It's disturbing and the fact that I still am searching for some valuables makes me wonder what the future holds.
I have weird visions of him in the house at night especially, wandeirng about, opening tins, opening wardrobes, searching through things randomly, exploring in a bizarre journey of discovery for which he alone knows the reasons. I used to think he found things for me to be a sort of hero... for the gratitude and so on. Now I wonder. He is a complicated individual with a very chequered past. I needed his help and he did help me. Without his help now, I wonder how I will cope with the old house. It is all very vexing and actually upsetting. J. keeps threatening to sell the house, to 'clear it out' summarily. I am incapable physically of moving the heavy boxes and furniture that needs to be moved in order to retrieve items that are behind them.
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