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Now is the only reality. Wrong. Reality is past and future, because they have happened and are going to happen They have a reality which is true. I am just about to make myself a cup of coffee. I smell it, though it does not yet exist. I can taste it, even though only in my mind. So my future does exist as much as the present and the past. The future which I can control, or at least I think I can, unless I die now, which I may not be able to control.
Cat sleeping, curled up on the green cushion, by the window. I look out at snow covered fields. The sky an ominous grey. May snow again today. Should do a pile of things. But I don't feel like doing them. What difference would it make if I have done them or not? I dream. Now the phone rings. It is her voice. But how could it be? They say she is dead. But it is my beautiful angel. She does live, but people can't believe what they don't understand. Only she and I know.
It is kind of amazing to have discovered this site, just when I was thinking of finding a writing course. This way of writing 100 words each day, gives the kind of discipline I feel I need. I have already written a book, and I should be working on it more but I can't even look at it for the time being. It is about a very personal experience and it is all I really want to write about. It is the undercurrent of my life, as it is something that has changed me and my family forever.
You and I are always in touch. You are a part of me; you always were, but for 27 years you lived in a beautiful body of your own, different from mine, but we were never seperated. When you were born, my body felt pain, but my spirit felt elation. When you died, my body and my spirit seemed to die with pain. But we are both together still. We talk to each other, and you advise me so well. I should always listen to you. You are as alive as I am, and I adore you forever.
Watched a film last night. It was not very good. But the main male character reminded me of her previous boyfriend. But she had met a new man, and asked me for my advice. I told her to follow her heart. She took my advice, and then she died. I still wonder if she may be alive now if she'd not met the new man, or if she had not asked me for my opinion. I know I should not think such thoughts, but they do sometimes appear. Life goes on, both men are now happily married.
My head feels empty. Feeling thirsty. A glass of cold white wine would be just the thing. It might inspire me to write about something. Wanting to be candid, yet there is a retisence in me, like not wanting to walk around naked in public. Skinny dipping can be lovely though, in a warm sea on a warm day, in a secluded grotto. Feeling the velvety water washing over your body with each stroke of your arms as you swim, and then floating on your back, your hair immersed in the salty ocean, while tiny fish nibble on your toes.
A friend said to me yesterday: "Why do you need to interact with people you don't know?", when we were talking about 100 words a day. I said I don't interact, I only write and it is under a pen name. She said: "Why don't you write a diary instead?" I pondered on this and came to the conclusion that the format keeps me from not waffling about, to keep to the point of what I am writing about, and if other people do read it, that it may somehow touch them, as some of their writings do touch me.
We were eating Chinese dim sum. When squid were brought to the meal, my friend said they are delicious. The memory of an Italian night, in a fishing boat, the squid the boy had caught moved about and touched my bare leg. I fell into the water with shock. The next day, at lunch, we were served up a meal and it tasted good. I asked the boy what kind of fish it was, and he said, "It's your friend, the octopus!" That was the last time such a thing entered my mouth, and even the thought makes me queasy !
I wrote on here and it got deleted. By mistake.Can I write the same words again? Will it be the same freshness onto the page? No, and like thoughts manifested as words the moment they are born in the mind, once not allowed to be said, they are not the same as they were before. You can't give birth to something twice over. It was about the dancing last night. I almost didn't go, but then I did and it was a rebirth of my body and soul. I am sure you encouraged me to go. We love dancing.
Sorting out piles and piles of old photographs. My mother was a very keen photographer and so was my husband. Digging through thousands of pictures of my children and family members, at all ages and some sepia photos of grandparents in their distant youth and so many more of friends etc. I can't seem to throw any away, but am trying to organize them into some sort of order into plastic boxes. It is strange how each photo has an emotional memory attached, they are moments captured; windows into the past. Entering these moments I find myself magically time travelling.
I love mornings. Especially if waking after enough sleep. The day has almost infinite possibilites. Having a commitment like a lunch date, it's nice to think I am going to be seeing a friend. But some days my mind is like a bird, I should be free to fly wherever I choose and explore whatever world comes into my view from the heights of magical perspective. Never alone, I am like a twin with a spirit who lives in this body. Catching sight of an image in the mirror now and I am surprised. Is that someone I should know?
She came over for a cup of tea. We had chatted about our cats through the window that morning. She'd moved in next door a few weeks ago, but this was the first time she came to my flat. The photo she looked at on the mantelpiece seemed to hold her attention for longer than a few seconds. She seemed mesmerized by it. "You look SO alike!"she exclaimed, "like two peas in a pod!" "Oh, but SHE was so beautiful..." I said, and thought: did we really look so similar? How come others always see that, when I don't?
Funny about languages. I speak several, because I was born in a different country from where I grew up but since the age of ten my education has been in English. So I speak English better than my native language. I love French and Spanish and speak them quite fluently, and some German too. But what is weird is feeling like a different person in the different languages. People say, I seem more relaxed in other languages than I am when I talk in English. Most people think I am English. I don't really feel English or really any nationality.
I bumped my head on the edge of an open door yesterday. My visitor was sitting in the living room, and I had popped into the next room to get a magazine, to show her an article I'd read. Ouch! A really hard bang to my forehead, as I got up from bending down to pick up the magazine from the floor. I thought of holding some ice against the bruise, which was pulsating with pain. But I had to get lunch on the table, as my visitor was hungry and I forgot about my bump. My head still aches.
"You should get yourself checked out," said the man in the pharmacy. So I walked down the road to the local hospital and went into Accident and Emergency. I told them I had a head injury more than twenty four hours ago, and it still hurt. The waiting room was full of sick people, but I sat for two hours until it was my turn and the doctor examined my eyes. Asked me some questions and then seemed satisfied with my answers. Overcome with relief that I was not seriously damaged, I strolled home trusting I'll live through the night.
It's a bit difficult to write candidly on here some days. Maybe that's because I have things foremost on my mind which are not what I feel right to share in public. They are very personal and very important. In retrospect, I will probably write about it, but right now I am focusing on being totally positive and not worrying about what is on my mind. I am not a worrier. Living in the moment, and concentrating on the tasks of my daily routine, and maybe getting some Christmas cards written and sent will be my ambitious project for today.
Having posted the letter at the post office and feeling satisfied with myself, I walked around a bit. But it was cold and wet, so I thought I'd give myself a treat, a few minutes browsing in a shop I was pasing by. There was a sale on, so I looked at some shirts for D, even though we promise not to buy each other Christmas presents every year. And then I saw the puffer coats and bought one for myself. I love it, and it is a perfect fit, but I still always feel guilty buying anything for myself.
John Lennon said life happens while you're making plans. So bye bye now my plans... Sprained my ankle today. I should've changed my boots for snow boots with crampons, which I usually wear walking in the snow, but the park looked so beautiful . So I didn't follow the little voice which tried to advise me. Lying on my bed now with icepack on the swelling. Is my body trying to tell me something? Were YOU trying to tell me something? It's the second silly accident this week I've had, and I think there must be a message in it somewhere.
My temporary disability has been very educational. It brings home the fact that being independent is so much a part of my character, and I imagine other people feel similarly. Suddenly finding you can't do things which normally you take for granted, is such an eye opener. You feel you have aged by 40 years in one day...Friends and neighbours could be helpful, but do you really want to call and ask for help at such a busy time for everyone? So I have come up with some ingenious practical solutions for getting around my living space without crutches.
Frozen Britain.It looks like a winter wonderland as I look out my window at the white fields, and the snow covered branches of the tall trees. A grey squirrel scampers along a stone wall, and my cat is viewing it's progress, mesmerized. She is perched cosy on the windowsill above the radiator. This is not her preferred season of adventuring outdoors. I watch the news. Heathrow airport like a refugee camp, planes frozen in the ice, people sleeping huddled in blankets. Like stranded on an arctic desert island. The computer screen is my comfort, when email from D appears.
Oh, oh, it's after four in the morning now. Made some milky semolina, a comfort food from my childhood, so I can sleep better when I return to bed soon. Had woken just past midnight to check for email from D. There was none in my inbox. So to avoid being in a state of supressed mental discomfort,I found out by text that he is at airport, awaiting boarding his plane, and it is scheduled to fly. That's good news...Travelling and experiencing different parts of the world is great... But mothers can't help worrying sometimes. Mine did too.
I never worried about YOU though. You travelled far and wide. You studied and lived abroad too, on the other side of the planet. You seemed so capable and independent, embarking on learning one of the most difficult languages in the world. You were adventurous, yet so serene and grounded, and always sorrounded by caring friends who loved you. You seemed so secure. But maybe deep inside you were not that sure of anything. One thing that you must have been sure of, is that we loved you totally. Now you are always here, we cannot know how or why.
It's the sixth day that I have not been outdoors.Even though I stick my head out the window every now and then, and breathe in the cold fresh winter air, it is not quite the same as being right in the wind and snow outside. Oxygen is such a tonic! Watching television, reading books or being on the computer is no substitute for being able to walk on the street, even though now slushy and icy in places. On the plus side, I have a brilliant excuse not to be sending my Christmas cards out on time.... yet again!
I saw a programme recently about dairy farming. It seems they are bringing in factory type milk production. It showed one English dairy farmer, having to liquidate his farm, selling his cows, as he could not keep up with the competition of cheap supermarket milk pricing. He went to the USA to observe modern mass production dairy farming. Watching this film, I could see he tried not to show his emotions, but he was as upset as I was. The cows are being kept indoors in pens all their lives, and are nothing but a factory producing calves and milk.
I don't have any problem about Christmas day, when everyone should be jolly with family. Mine now consists of only one person, whom I love totally. He's now at a dinner we were both invited to, but I could not face going. I prefer staying at home, not socializing. It is a religious festival, and in past years I sometimes went to midnight mass. I remember one in the Notre Dame in Paris; that was a special year in my life. And fond nostalgia remembering Christmases in Yorkshire,laid on for us in a traditional English way, my daughter loved.
Had a lovely day just doing whatever I felt like. Very hedonistic, but that's OK, isn't it? Picked up a little book off my shelves, just simply titled:"Be Zen" and opened it at random. I read this little anecdote: After eating their dinner, a young monk asks his teacher what is the meaning of Zen. His teacher replies," Have you finished your rice?" "Yes", answers the young monk. "Then go and wash up your bowl." Pondering on this kind of simplicity, it feels so good to be reminded that everyday things are the real building blocks of human life.
"Even dust sparkles when it catches a ray of sunlight." Read that in a book I opened at random earlier today. So that could excuse me from dusting my shelves. Why does this time of year have to get so hectic? We should be hibernating, like the bears. After all, the climate has been similar to the North Pole all these weeks, and I just feel like climbing into my cosy bed by teatime, when it's already pitch dark outside. But I must now finish writing cards, cook a meal and wrap presents for friends, coming to visit from afar.
I've got a sore throat. Talked too much today but it was so good to see G. and her family. We hadn't seen each other for so many years, but with some friends that makes no difference. Familiarity is resumed from the first moments of meeting again; the greeting hugs and kisses are genuine, not merely politely sociable. I do sometimes ponder on this: what makes people like each other and others not. Even in nursery school, kids choose to be friends with some kids and not with others. Same when we grow up, maybe we seek our kindred spirits.
Body rhythm. Life rhythm. Your own routine. Regularily. Surprises. Feeling yourself falling out of sink. Gadgets and household machines broken, out of order. Never mind! Can do without!?! Waking at dawn, then going back to sleep. Two interesting dreams, remembering their content and intending to write them down, before any interruption to the gossameer memory of such miracles. Pottering around and digging out a dozen notebooks with twelve years of notes and thoughts. Magically immersed in reading the stories when doorbell rings. Dear old friend E. standing on the threshold, she called, but phone doesn't work. Hugs and coffee time....
Yesterday...Yesterday.. Isn't there a song by that title? Well,it's today and now there's yesterday to account for... I went to bed far too late... It is morning now, yet I am bleary eyed, struggling to keep my eyelids from closing, and gently returning to the realm of dreams. Although it looks grey and misty outside, the day beckons its agenda... Why was it that the computer held me glued to its bright screen, radiating its own strange light, mesmerizing me awake, ignoring my natural body rhythm and suppressing my melatonin? It must have been more than all that.
Wow...Today is the last day of this year. Writing this last entry of the last month of the year, I almost wrote the words: "the last month of the last year." It could be the last year of my life or it could not be. We do not know what the future holds, in fact we do not know what the next moment, the next hour or the next day holds in store for us. That is why "Carpe Diem", seize the day, is such a wise and noble motto. You lived by this beautifully, and you never "died".
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