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Since that year, the first two weeks of February is our special time together. So as of today, I am working on creating my BOUNDARIES with the material world. Will endeavour to have communication with only certain people, need to have a truce from hassles and unkind, unaware people; bad vibes will not be accepted. A clear "No Parking" sign is erected now, no nasties allowed. My age-old Polyanna attitude believing and seeing the best in people has to be put on hold, so I can focus on being with her ... The 15th is the Anniversary of her Change.
Ok, so I have begun to clear the decks, so to speak. Although each day there are inevitable chores of an official, material nature still to be completed, my mind and spirit feel less encumbered and I started singing this morning instead of crying, as I had done on waking some mornings last week. So I can saviour being with YOU and listening. I know YOU are around us most of the time: you pop in just like you used to. This anniversary is going to be the 18th year, yet time does not exist when I remember that Monday.
A friend suggested we see a film yesterday,"The King's Speech", which was excellent but the cinema was overheated. It's years since I've gone to a cinema; home viewing is more comfortable. We sat in my friend's car after, and talked about "stuff". Inevitably, we touched on our diametrically opposed views of perception. As a psychologist, she understands phenomena by "scientific" explanation, and maybe this is necessary for the safekeeping of her own psychology. Yet, "there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy" as observed by Shakespeare, matches my own life experience.
So that was yesterday... Today, as I was describing that day of unrelenting storm, on both parallel mental and physical levels, the webpage expired, just as I was editing it. My language and expression was so poetic...and I was beginning to feel chuffed at my attempt to make mundane hassles transform themselves into creative writing! So shall try and remember my words, now dispersed into that strange ether known to us moderns as cyberspace? Oh well, if it happens again, then there must be some message hidden in the process, which may be this: " Take care: mind your words!"
Took refuge from the storm by OUR tree yesterday. It was a storm which arose from the threatening dark clouds that had been gathering for weeks. As the wind seemed to say: "I'll huff and I'll puff 'till I blow your house down"... lo and behold, there's my shelter next to YOU, my special tree. So that's what I did. Then suddenly a tiny little bird appeared, I think it was a robin, hopping around the root of the tree. I watched it, so beautiful and colourful: it shat an emerald green tiny dropping. That was its message to me.
Gone with the wind... winds of change...I love the wind.. especially if it's a strong warm wind like it's been in recent days. It certainly can blow the cobwebs away...I stood on the hill last night and let the wind blow and blow, right into my face and hair, surrendering myself to it's cleansing force, and with every deep breath I felt I was being nourished and invigorated and my spirit expanded and healed. Alas, today I missed my daily pilgrimage to my hill... Instead, I had to go elsewhere with a friend, but that was good too.
I should write in the mornings. Night time is for dreaming. I can't think of anything I want to write about now. So why am I trying to do it? It is not good to write just for the sake of writing the 100 words for today. I should leave it, and write the words tomorrow, when I may be inspired by something, as I always seem to be first thing in the morning, before my list of things that need to be done get done. Now I've eaten a mustard sandwich to tickle my brain cells into creative mode.
Parallel universes. They exist. I don't know how I know it, but I know it. It is only a way of describing something in our human vocabulary, to make our human minds accept such a concept, because we know what "parallel" means: it is a basic geometric fact. We can actually SEE something parallel to something else. And we can measure it. Therefore, it is a respectably "scientific" theory of describing "reality". But, (and, mind you, a big BUT ) "reality" is nothing like that...because it is "unfathomable, unintelligible, incomprehensible, beyond understanding". I know this, because YOU have told me..
It was lovely getting that sign from H. today..The whiff of cigarette smoke in the air, so unmistakable...as I walked on the hill in the grey late afternoon. I looked around, but there was no one else in the vicinity smoking; there were no other people on the hill... He did love his cigarettes. Especially the strong French ones. When he gave up smoking after his operation, he said he missed it still and even savioured watching actors puffing away in films...So now he can smoke to his heart's content, where he is now, and he's fine.
"Pather Panchali",a masterpiece directed by Satyajit Ray is NOT a film but an experience. Watched it on the Classic Movie channel this morning, and it is an absolute MUST for anyone interested in film making, acting or just enjoying a very memorable film. I had seen it many years ago, but could not remember the content exactly, except that it is the first of a trilogy about APU, a boy growing up in rural India in the middle of the last century. The 1950's! That does sound like so long ago...but the film and the story is ageless.
Yes... I have my silence for the next few days..leading up to the 15th. Although the builders are going to invade next week, on the 16th, with this farcical situation of being obliged by officialdom to repair and spend a fortune on a ceiling which is not urgent nor even necessary... Yes, the silence is great..with only the birdsong audible through the open windows. Not even my chattering neighbours are around, fixing things in their garden or having parties. Yet anxiety seeping into my consciousness keeps me from enjoying this time...This time reserved for being with YOU.
We learn psychological ways of coping from our parents' attitudes; not by verbal instruction but by example. Whenever I'm really worried, by stuff which may require cold hard objectivity and then resolving in a detached firm way...it starts impinging on my mood, and I'm aware of a slow but sure sinking feeling ...into what may be called depression. But I never get depressed! I don't allow myself that silly luxury...So yesterday, YOU said to me, whispering into my head: " Let's go skiing!" Well...and why not?.."Life's to be lived here and now! Enjoy it while you can..."
Oh I wish I could write something funny. Because it is great when you read someone's entry and it makes you smile or have a giggle. But I'm afraid I can just write about how I've been moving furniture around this morning, then dashed to the deli before they closed to pick up a roast chicken, then watched a film which was quite amusing. It reminded me of my ex-husband's family and how alien it all was to me, coming from an international upbringing, getting used to the ways of the English class system, which can be very funny.
It's the 14th of February, and as it happens to be Valentine's Day, I hope to God nobody wishes me a happy Valentine's Day, because I can't help getting angry when that happens.I know it is nobody's fault that they don't realize what Valentine's Day means for me--but as it happens it is the day before my daughter died, and the anniversary starts to feel as it does, even days before..."If suffering breeds stories, then the transformation of suffering into a higher order and beauty and funcionality breathes tranquility." Ben Okri wrote this. So relevant to me.
Oh it's been a good special day. I made a delicious broccoli and leek soup, I watched a well made documentary about tigers getting extinct in India and now I'm getting to bed rather late because a friend came by and we drank mulled wine. Earlier this afternooon, I rescued a ladybug which my cat nearly killed. It's now housed under a glass bowl,with a raisin to eat and plenty of room to move or fly about, until it's warm enough to let it out into the garden. I looked up on the internet how to look after ladybugs.
The little ladybug seems ok. It moves around, and climbs on top of the raisin, is it having a delicious feast? It seems to like to sit on the damp paper towel, it's getting hydrated there. Hope it does not feel too imprisoned. It wasn't my intention to deprive it of its freedom or natural habitat. But it would be cruel to let it out, the house is full of dangers: like my cats. If it flies out the window, it would be cold, that's why it found its way into the warm house. Anyway, it seems quite happy now.
I am NOT writing ahead! The computer did a "blip" on me yesterday, and my entry was posted as a blank. So what could I do? I emailed it to the "management" but have not had any reply...Anyway, I'm being a good girl, and writing this entry today, on the 17th, and my previous entry dated the 17th was actually written yesterday(which shows as a blank on my page!) Oh, I'm really very well organized, even though I SEEM somewhat scatty! We should not judge a book by it's cover--true to a degree, but never say never!
But we do tend to judge books by their cover, at least initially.... And people too. They say, we get attracted to people of the opposite sex within the first few seconds of meeting: "Love at first sight"... Oh yes, it has been true for me! It was exactly this experience when P. and I met. It works with people generally too; I am sure we read or feel each other's "auras", and like attracts like. I think it's a heart thing: heart knows best.... When we don't like someone, then change our minds, using logic, we can go wrong.
I feel like I'm coming down with flu . Been like this for about 3 days now, and trying not to let the bug get me. Builders scheduled to start tearing my place apart tomorrow...So yesterday, I took time out from chores to rest and watched a film I recorded, "Roman Holiday", which was Audrey Hepburn's first film, made in the early 1950's. It lifted my spirits so much,; the acting and the story line is charming and so funny. I had to smile and laugh out loud so much, I am sure it helped me to feel better yesterday.
Just did a test someone sent me by email, one of those fun kind of psychology thingies. So according to that , I am 37 years old. Well, I've always thought that chronological age can be quite different to one's biological age. The numbers are really insignificant, except of course during childhood, when there is a definite chronological expectation of a certain development and growth in your numbered age. But beyond childhood and teenage, it is what you have lived through, the experiences you have had and your resulting attitude towards life, the world and people, that really shows your age.
The builders arrived at the start of this week and set to work, repairing the ceiling. They stuck large rectangular boards over the whole area, and then applied an even coat of plaster, which is now being left to dry out over a couple of days. It is a very high ceiling, so they had to erect scaffolding to stand on, while doing the plastering. I was stuck in the back room, and had to snake my way between the wooden planks and metal supports, if I needed to go out. But it was a productive time for doing stuff.
I have been thinking about P quite a lot the past weeks. He and I met when we were in our early twenties, and it was love at first sight for me. I don't mean just his looks, which were very attractive, but there was a depth to him which was obvious to me, from that first long conversation we had, sitting at that cafe table that night, where neither of us had planned to be, but we seemed placed there by our destiny, chance or whatever it is that creates these timings of coincidence. He was my Prince Charming.
The room looks white, empty and very large. The painters need to put another coat of white paint on the walls; the windows and doors will be decorated next week. Then their job is finished. So over the next few days, I shall be looking at and ruminating about this large white empty room. With its high ceilings. Could build another platform bed in this room too, as the ceilings are very high in this substatial Victorian semi. I feel there is a need for a big change. I won't put furniture and all the clutter back ..for a while.
I DO understand, where he is at, even though he is convinced that I can't possibly understand.... It is because parents and children are too close, and it matters not at all how old the children are. If they are adult children, the situation becomes more difficult. I have observed this myself too, in my relationship with my own mother. I lived with her until I married at age 25, and the relationship was the most difficult at that time. Yet even when I was already a mother with my own children, I felt she treated me as a child.
Why do I make plans and then want to change them? If it concerns other people too, it can be a little awkward, and I suspect I have a reputation, that I change my mind a lot. So I try to keep to arrangements, but sometimes it seems better to change a meeting place, and I really don't think it is such a big deal to anyone, certainly nothing to get annoyed about, as long as participants of the meeting are notified and agree upon the new venue. I've just emailed my friends,changing tomorrow's lunch from Chinese to Thai.
I am so tired I am so tired I am so tired, God! Can't just go on writing that-- just to fill in my 100 words today, but that is how I feel right now- and yet I felt fine this morning; jumped out of bed at 8am and went for a walk across the fields and on to the hill, and I stood there breathing in the fresh air, warmly snuggled in my duvet coat, my legs in cosy fleece trousers tucked into my old green wellies and felt everything would be alright soon... I do hope so anyway...
This day, the 28th of February is the anniversary of when my father died. It was a long time ago, but the date remains very special. He was a wonderful man and a very loving father, although I sometimes feel that I did not appreciate him for who he was, or show him that I did, being so involved in my own teenage life. He died suddenly and unexpectedly. I was 19. On a cold dark February afternoon, in Montreal while studying in the University library, I felt I must go home immediately. It was that afternoon that he died.
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