FEATURE
The Ideas of March © LUCIA FOSTER-FOUND 2021
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WWW.LUCIAFOSTERFOUND.COM
o glad to see the back of February; four short weeks that felt like months. Must be a lockdown thing, she thought. Or maybe the incessant barking from the neighbour’s dogs had made each day and most nights seem longer? The enormous wrinkly puppies acquired during the first lockdown, no doubt at great expense, had morphed into mahoosive, noisy adolescents. A Baskerville-ian baying erupted from next door. “Paperboy” she thought as she picked up her newspaper from the doormat. She sat with a coffee and read the horoscopes for some light relief. Apparently Himself’s sun was in Pisces and he should enjoy the little things of life. But what did that mean? Keep tropical fish? Whitebait for tea? Also, it mentioned the Ides of March; with the full moon in Mars they should avoid conflict and aggression. Given that they were avoiding absolutely everyone - aggressive, Italian or otherwise… Drivel. Honestly. She turned the page. Himself appeared and said. “So… I had this idea…” With an excited air he thrust a wristband into her hand, proudly displaying the one he was already wearing. “I came out of the first lockdown fatter and grimmer. I’m leaving this one fitter and trimmer!” Oh lord – a fitness tracker… She looked from it to him and asked “Who are you and what have you done with my husband?” “It’s wonderful!” he laughed “I’ve secretly been wearing it and already increased my step count.” All his thundering up and down stairs now made sense. “And the GPS will measure our walks in the forest with the dogs.” Good, that might actually help them find the car again.. He enthused. “You hardly know you’re wearing them, they’re so small.” Crikey - maybe these were his ‘little things’ from the horoscope? He went on ”And they’re waterproof, so we can swim in them.” Aah – the sun in Pisces! She put hers on and ran to the shed and back. Puffing, she studied the display with interest. Steps; fewer than it felt. Pulse; a good darts score. Bit concerning. Himself apparently had a (very valid) point and she pronounced herself a convert. Looking delighted, he kissed her on the cheek and trotted on the spot. The fitness tracker quickly became her conscience. She too thundered up and down the stairs and trotted on the spot. The sleep monitor, although informative, didn’t register the
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nightmares though. The one where she went into a shop without her mask, then sprinted for the exit like a deranged goal scorer with her jumper pulled over her head, was particularly awful. In a sweat, she’d woken herself up from that and checked her pulse – only to find Himself already awake, muttering. “It’s those dogs again. Woofing. Milkman.” The next day, he announced “I’ve had a jolly idea! Let’s go for a run together.” Well, neither were what you’d call natural athletes. Quick sprint from the car to the house in a downpour, yes. Lurching along the road in lycra, no. “Best to build up to that sort of thing, darling. Brisker walks and more stints on the exercise bike first, I think.” She worried he might overdo it. She also worried she might too. But Himself was not listening. Not listening to her anyway; the neighbour’s dogs were at it again. Postman. “Actually, I’ve had an idea.” He announced. Another one? “‘Next Door’, he’s a jogger – I could ask him if he’d like some company.” Now she’d seen ‘Next Door’ out and about and she’d definitely have described what he did as running, not jogging. Surprisingly fast for such a big man. And looking very… what was the word…? ‘serious’ was the kindest one that came to mind. “And then I could bring up, you know, casually, the subject of the relentless barking …” he nodded to himself, looking pleased with the notion as he headed out of the door. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, darling.” She called after him. The words ‘conflict’ and ‘aggression’ resurfaced from the horoscope, as she visualised the scary man-mountain that was ‘Next Door’. Plus, the dogs looked like they snacked on paperboys, postmen, milkmen – and neighbours. The ‘Ides of March’ weren’t drivel. They were a typo. It should be the ‘Ideas of March’ – and frankly the ideas were getting out of hand.. Himself was not gone long. “P’raps you’re right.” He announced, washing his hands. “I’ll give it a few weeks and get fitter. Revisit the idea again next month.” “Why, what did ‘Next Door’ say?” Looking vaguely relieved, he shrugged his shoulders and helped himself to a mini mars bar. Between mouthfuls he said “Nothing. His dogs were in the garden. Lovely – nearly licked me to death. But barked so loudly he didn’t hear me knocking..”
